Rich Man, Poor Man : A Darker Path
by idiosyncratic1
Summary: AU: What if Castle had never become a famous, successful, and wealthy writer? Struggling to make ends meet, failed writer Richard Rodgers meets Detective Kate Beckett under quite different circumstances.
1. Chapter 1

He watched her from the shadows.

It was Monday evening and the twelfth precinct was virtually deserted, but there she stood, just like she had every Monday night, silhouetted against the bright white of the murder board - the office lighting having vanished several hours before, along with everyone else. He was giddy. He couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but something about their weekly crossing of paths filled him with a sense of wonder and purpose that made the rest of the week seem dreary in comparison. Maybe it was the way she stood sentinel, protecting the city well into the dark of the night. Maybe it was the utter absorption in the task at hand - the way she'd scrunch her nose or furrow her brow while thinking, mouthing something to herself before hurriedly rearranging pictures. Maybe it was just nice to know that somebody else, anybody else, existed at this time of day.

Then again, he thought, maybe it was the way she bent over in those very tight jeans to write something low on the board, and he tilted his head to the side for a moment to enjoy the view.

"Staring is creepy," said a hard and tired voice a few minutes later. He snapped to attention. Oops! He had been staring. She had turned around to peer over her shoulder - when had that happened?! - and her dark eyes bored into him from across the room. She narrowed them at him, expecting something.

"I'm ...sorry?" he tried. She turned back to the board, with the barest hint of a smirk and continued writing.

"Either you're very devoted to cleaning that one square foot of hardwood over there, or you see something that interests you over here. Which is it?" she asked, tossing him another look.

"I -" He looked down helplessly at the mop in his hands, which he suspected hadn't moved in a while.

"So what do you think? See anything interesting?"

Yes, he had seen something very interesting, but that couldn't possibly be what she was referring to. His brain, caught off guard, had completely discontinued regular functioning, but his traitorous feet had begun to move across the bullpen towards her, drawn towards her, abandoning his mop and cart, and the better part of his self-preservation instincts.

When he reached her, she stood and turned toward him, staring at him intently and appraisingly in a way that suddenly had him nervous, and he thought momentarily of the poor criminals who must have sat across from her in interrogation. He immediately wanted to confess his guilt for any number of things and he hadn't done anything wrong.

"So what do you think, Castle?" she asked after a moment, tilting her head towards the board.

Castle was not his name. It was, however, the name on his coveralls, a remnant of a bygone era when the city had enough money to spring for things like customized embroidery on its work uniforms. His name - the name on the ID badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck and currently tucked into the neck of his t-shirt - was Richard Rodgers. She said the name with such an air of amusement, however, that he didn't have the heart to correct her. For her, he could be 'Castle,' ...or anything else she wanted.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" he fished.

"Detective Kate Beckett. Homicide."

"Well, Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide, I think I'm glad to be right where I am and not up on that board." He smiled what he hoped was an endearing smile at her, and she rolled her eyes at him briefly before turning back to ponder the board, but he thought that maybe, just maybe there was a hint of a smile. He couldn't be sure because it came and went so quickly, but it made his heart quicken a little. That was the story of how he met Kate Beckett, and that is how he became Castle.

Later, much later, when he came home, bone-tired, coated with a thick layer of grime from a hard night's work, he wrote what happened down. He didn't know why. Really, he would have been much better served falling face-first into his mattress. but it had been a long time since he had written anything, and this was the first event in a while that he wanted to be able to come back to.

_There are two kinds of folks who lurk around in the dark watching people, _he wrote_, psychopaths and janitors. I'm the kind that pays_ better. (He made a face at that last part, not entirely certain it was true.) _Truth is, they're the lucky ones, because she's chasing them, and I can only watch._ He wrote for a while longer, describing Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide in detail, though leaving out the part about the very tight jeans and the bending over, and saved the file as 'Castle.'


	2. Chapter 2

Rick was awakened by the annoying digital chirp of his phone alarm.

Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his stubble-covered jaw, and rolled over, jumping a bit and crying out as a spring dug its way into his side - again. Sitting up, he rubbed his poor, bruised ribs, and stretched until he heard the satisfying pop of his vertebrae re-aligning themselves from where the lumpy mattress had pushed them. His mother's sofa-bed was far from the most comfortable thing to sleep on, and the springs had a nasty habit of shifting and uncoiling as soon as he found a comfortable position. He sought out the source of the annoying chirp, his new smart phone, acquired from a friend of a friend who knew a guy ("and don't ask too many questions because it may not be entirely legal, but hey you can play Angry Birds on it."). The display read 7 am. Three hours sleep. Not bad.

Rick wandered blearily into the small kitchen, started a pot of coffee, whipped up a quick pancake batter, and tidied up the living room as the frying pan was warming up. Just as he had replaced the last of the throw cushions, the door burst open and a much-too-cheery voice theatrically-projected through the room!

"Good morning, darling! What a wonderful day it is outside!" his mother, Martha, twirled into the loft, a miasma of brightly colored, silky material swirling around her, like a rainbow had reproduced with a hurricane. It was the same miasma of brightly colored, silky material she had worn last night, and Rick made a mental note to try and stop noticing this.

"How was the play, mother?" Rick asked, moving into the kitchen and pouring some batter into a sizzling skillet. His mother, a moderately-successful actress of stage and screen, had a substantial supporting role in a just-off-Broadway production that was generating buzz among the theater community... or so she told him.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! And you will never guess who was at the after-party!" Rick guessed (correctly) that whoever was at the after-party was responsible for the inescapable fact that Martha was wearing the same outfit as she left the apartment in yesterday, earning him an exasperated look from Martha, who didn't believe in walks of shame. Not one to stay down for long, she continued to buzz around as Rick cooked.

"And I see you've made breakfast! Such a considerate son I have!" she tweaked his cheek, moving behind him, and then kissed the other one, before stealing his mug of coffee, and having a seat at the small kitchen island. "Speaking of consideration, I'm just being courteous and letting you know that the rent is due in three days and I have yet to receive your contribution, dear." Richard could hear in her voice that she really didn't want to nag him, and relented with a sigh, searching through his much-too-empty wallet, and finding that it was just a bit light of rent money.

"No problem, mother. You will have it by tomorrow. I am stopping by the bank after work, and my pay should have deposited last night." Rick insisted, making a mental note to visit an ATM later.

"Good. That's my boy. Oh, and I collected the mail from downstairs on my way up." She handed him a stack of letters. Rick rifled through them. Bill. Bill. Second notice - he cringed and hoped his pay would cover that one. Bill. May have already won a million dollars. Letter from Black Pawn -now that was interesting! Rick put the rest of the stack of envelopes aside, and tore the envelope open immediately.

_Dear Mr. Rodgers,_

_Black Pawn wishes to thank you for your recent submission of material for publication. Unfortunately, after careful consideration, Black Pawn has decided that your novel does not meet the criteria we are currently looking for in publishable material at this time..._

He grunted and slammed the paper, text-down onto the counter. He could recite the rest of the form letter by heart, with its vague, condescending, bland and patronizing corporate phrasing. The same one Gina Cowell sent him every time, declining his follow-up phone calls. Rick sighed and took a moment to shake the rejection off, affirming to himself that one day he would be successful, published author, and would be able to tell Gina Cowell precisely where she could shove her bland, patronizing corporate rejection form letters.

"Tough break, kiddo?" Martha asked, sympathetically. Rick had forgotten she was even there. She picked up the letter and glanced at it briefly. "Ugh! Gina Cowell. She's my least favorite by far of your rejection letters. They ought to fire that one," she added, nonchalantly, coaxing a small smile out of her son. "Listen...kiddo...have you ever thought of maybe taking a break from the writing?" she asked, hesitantly.

Rick gave his mother a look of complete dread, knowing what was coming next.

"There's this lovely lady in wardrobe, Lois, and her son is a banker, and she said that he might be able to pull some strings, get you started on a new career path..." she trailed off as Rick stormed out of the kitchen, taking a minute to compose himself, and returning to confront Martha.

"I'm sorry," he started. "Thank you for looking out for me, and thank Lois for offering, but I'm managing. I'm paying the bills, taking care of Alexis..."

"Hey! No fair talking about me when I'm not around!" Alexis appeared from around a corner, fresh-faced and dressed for school. She bounced up to Rick, placing a kiss on his cheek - "Morning, Dad! Ooh! Pancakes!" - before sailing over to do the same to her grandmother. Rick beamed at his little ray of sunshine, and reminded himself that despite corporate rejection letters and little sleep, there was one thing that made everything worthwhile.

"And what makes my lovely daughter so chipper this morning? Did you get that math test back? I told you that you were going to ace it. How did I end up with such a smart daughter? I'll never understand it."

"Actually," Alexis started enthusiastically, "Paige's family has invited me to go skiing with them in Lake Placid over the long weekend! And before you start worrying, her parents are paying for all the accommodations, and Paige is letting me borrow some of her ski gear and all you need to pay for is the lift tickets, and I found this deal online..."

"How much?" Rick winced, rubbing his temples.

"Only seventy dollars, Dad, but that's for the whole weekend and it's a really good deal, and I've always wanted to go skiing, and..." Rick looked at Martha as his daughter babbled on and she nodded her head slightly, indicating that she'd cover whatever part of the money he couldn't.

"Okay! Okay! It's no problem, sweetheart! You can go!" Rick exclaimed, cutting his daughter off and Alexis launched across the room, almost knocking him over with the force of her hug. He looked gratefully over at Martha, who gave him an encouraging nod and a smile.

"Thanks dad!" Alexis exclaimed, kissing him on the cheek again, "you're the best!"

* * *

Much, much later that evening, Rick Rodgers found himself standing nervously in front of an ATM, on the walk home from work. His walk had taken him past the twelfth precinct, and as he had gone by, he noticed a familiar lone light shining in a window he knew looked in on the homicide department, and absently wondered how many nights per week that Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide stayed this late, and whether she would deem it too creepy if he stopped by to say hi and check in on her. Probably, he decided, before continuing on.

Punching in his security code, he looked up for a minute to send a silent prayer to the financial gods that he would be able to cover the monthly bills, and afford Alexis' ski trip without his mother's assistance. He had totaled up everything earlier and knew the exact balance he needed to see when he withdrew the rent money. He knew he had worked three overtime hours doing maintenance work for NYPD, and he had picked up an extra shift at his other job, so maybe...just maybe...

Rick closed his eyes and hit the balance button on the ATM. Opening one eye very cautiously, he looked at his balance. It was exactly what he needed - to the cent! Sending out a victory whoop, he pumped his fist in the air, thanked the financial gods, and danced around in a circle, coming face to face with a very amused looking Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Win the lottery?" she asked.

"Uhh, no!" Rick jumped back a few feet, startled. "It's just...you see...I...uh...it's...it's really a long story. Boring really." His hands were motioning all over the place, seemingly of their own volition and he tried casually running one through his hair before sticking them both in his pockets - _No! That looks stupid! -_ before bringing them down to his sides, defeated. The detective simply nodded, before looking at her watch, and motioning him towards the machine to complete his transaction.

"You out this late every night, Castle?" she inquired as he finished.

"Uhh…most nights? Hazard of the profession," he answered. Detective Beckett nodded, understandingly. "You?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Sometimes, if it's a rough case, or I have to finish paperwork." Rick suspected, by the discoloration under her eyes that it had been more than sometimes, recently. "Today we wrapped the case that I was working on last night."

"The one that you had up on the white board? The one with the…" Rick posed, mimicking the condition of the dead body from the crime scene photos. The detective laughed at his spot on imitation.

"Yeah, that's the one. You'll never guess who did it. Hey, have you eaten? I'm just going for a burger on my way home. I could use some company."

Rick considered carefully. He really, really did not have enough money to be going out for a burger right now - but God how he wanted to, so so much. His brain worked overtime, trying to come up with a way to delay payment on one of his bills. No. He had to be responsible. Kate was looking at him expectantly and – how long had he been thinking? Too long. The detective noticed the conflict on his face and her eyes flicked to the ATM for a moment before she changed her tactic.

"Come on," she pleaded gently, "It's on me. I've got to tell someone about how we caught this guy. It's a great story." Rick's mind travelled momentarily to the story he had started last night. There was something there. Maybe he could flesh it out a bit.

"Yeah. Yeah, I could go for a burger. That would be great." He caved. Detective Beckett motioned down the street towards the precinct and began to walk in the same direction. Rick watched her walk away for a second. She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck as the wind picked up, rifling through her hair, and Rick let his thoughts wander momentarily to the idea of wrapping himself around her and keeping her warm. Noticing that he hadn't followed her, she turned around and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You coming, Castle?" she asked, the merest hint of a smile on her lips. Rick startled into motion, jogging to catch up.

"Yeah, so this case…" he started, forgetting momentarily about bills, and overtime, and sleep, as they walked down the street together.

* * *

_Author's note: My revelation this chapter is that it's really hard to write a story about Castle without referring to Castle as Castle. Rick. His name is Rick. Why is that so hard? Replace. Replace. Replace. I think I got them all. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Detective Beckett chased the suspect down the rickety metal fire escape, leaping from landing to landing, gaining ground on the fugitive, watching as the man threw himself over the edge of the railing around the third story, bounced off of a convenient, cardboard-filled dumpster, rolled to the alleyway below, and scrambled back into a run. Sighing, the detective eyed the drop for a moment before gathering her courage to take the plunge herself. Just as she placed her hands on the metal railing, she heard a door burst open in the alleyway as her partner, Rick Castle ran into the alley, spotting the suspect immediately and using his quick reflexes and muscular physique to tackle him to the rough pavement..._

Rick's train of thought was disturbed by the digital chirp of his phone. He pawed the couch cushions beside him until he found the source of the offending noise, and hit the snooze button. Again. Where was he? Oh yeah.

_Rick Castle ran into the alley, spotting the suspect immediately and using his quick reflexes muscular physique to tackle him to the rough..._

"Morning Dad!" Alexis' voice sing-songed through the air. "You're up early! Or...did you even sleep last night, Dad?" asked Alexis, noting his apparel.

"That would depend entirely on what day it is, Alexis." Rick replied absentmindedly, triple-saving his document before looking up at his daughter, who was standing there with her hands on her hips in imitation of a stern parent.

"It's Friday, Dad, and that means you have about..." she glanced at her watch, "forty-five minutes to get ready and get to work to start your shift." Rick confirmed the time on his phone before jumping up, running down the hallway, sliding on the wooden floors, and just edging Martha out to take possession of the bathroom.

"Dear, you're late. You're usually dressed and showered by now." came her disappointed voice through the door.

"Can't talk now mother. Late for work. Sorry about stealing the bathroom." Rick cried frantically, as he pulled his clothes off in a hurry, cranked the water, hopped in the shower and began scrubbing himself vigorously with the soap.

Martha floated into the kitchen in her peacock-green, silk dressing gown to join Alexis, who was munching her way through a bowl of cereal while reading her science textbook.

"What's with him?" she asked Alexis, motioning down the hall to the bathroom. Alexis, her mouth full of cereal, simply raised Rick's laptop with one hand, waving it slightly, before returning to her reading.

"Writing again, huh? I swear he's been up every night this week, banging away on that laptop until the wee hours of the morning. He's taking this last rejection pretty hard. I've never seen him work like this." Alexis shrugged. Martha cast a concerned glance back down the hall to her son, already turning the shower water off. She was worried about him.

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett stood in one of those impossibly long New York city lines outside of a coffee shop that proclaimed to have "New York's best cappuccino." Of course the coffee shop across the street also proclaimed to have New York's best cappuccino so that wasn't saying a whole lot. She checked her watch. At this rate, Esposito and Ryan would beat her to the crime scene. A whoop and a smattering of applause came from inside the coffee shop, and Kate tried to peer around the unconscionably tall man in front of her, who towered over her, even in her four inch heels.

A gaggle of young girls pressed out of the door in front of her, each carrying a large to-go cup of something that smelled impossibly good, and a paper bag with some sort of pastry. The last one in the group had a bear claw - her favorite - and she wondered if she could use her badge to commandeer someone's breakfast in a believable manner. The line pushed forward, and this time Beckett made it through the doors of the small shop, just as the show began. Over the shoulder of the man in front of her, she could see porcelain cappuccino mugs flying through the air, followed by flavor syrup bottles, and what may have been a carton of milk. Steam flew up in a spectacular cloud, and seven seconds later, the crowd in the coffee shop broke into applause again, as another group of people made their way to the bar by the window, mugs in hand, grinning like happily caffienated idiots.

"And what would you ladies like?" chimed a familiar voice at the front of the room. Beckett frowned as she recognized it, and tilted her whole body to the side in time to see a man in an apron juggling three cappuccino cups in front of an amazed crowd of young hipster girls.

"...Castle?" she puzzled, out loud to herself, and blue eyes flicked up to meet hers. He managed a small smile, and a wave, almost fumbling a cup, before turning back to a row of fancy espresso machines. A cloud of steam soon billowed above his head, provoking more applause, and two orders later, she stood at the front of the line, confused.

"And what can I get for the lovely lady detective today?"

"I...Castle? You work here?"

"Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays."

"Do you ever sleep?" Beckett asked, exasperated. She knew what late hours he kept at the precinct.

"Do you, detective?" he shot back, waggling his eyebrows.

"Touche."

"Hey lady, will you either get a room or order a coffee? I got a business meeting," yelled a guy in a suit about seven back in the line, in a thick Staten Island accent, blue tooth headset clipped to his ear. Detective Beckett shot him a look before ordering.

"Uhh...Right. Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar free vanilla. To go."

"You like that hot, detective?" he waggled his eyebrows, and turned his attention to a table of middle-aged business women to his left, winking at them. The table erupted in giggles. Honest-to-goodness giggles. They whispered amongst themselves, before turning their adoring gaze back to the handsome barista.

Rick turned back to the machines, picked up a to go cup, juggled it behind his back and over his shoulder, where he caught it in a protective sleeve, scribbled on it with a permanent marker, and placed it underneath a spout, before beginning a new routine with a bottle of sugar-free vanilla syrup. Exactly forty seconds later, after a round of applause, Detective Beckett had a steaming cup of coffee and a small paper bag in front of her. She looked up in confusion.

"But I didn't order anything to..." she started. Rick silenced her with a finger to her lips. It smelled like vanilla. He leaned closer to her.

"Trust me." he whispered. "Best bear claws in Manhattan."

"Okay. How much do I -"

"It's on the house, detective."

"Hey, you can't just give that away, Rick" called an annoyed voice, and Rick threw an irritated glance over his shoulder at his manager.

"I've got this one, Rob." he spat back angrily at the bespectacled, goateed, mid-20-something man behind him, taking a ten dollar bill out of his pocket, waving it briefly and placing it beside the cash register. His magnanimous moment ruined, he turned back to the detective, and gave her a sheepish grin, which she returned.

"That was sweet. Thanks, Castle. Catch you later." She waved her bear claw at him, and turned to leave. She had so many questions, but now was not the time. She had a homicide to go solve. But first, time for coffee. Popping off the lid, she inhaled deeply, before peering down to find a flower patterned in to the milk on top of her drink. She smiled and took a sip letting out a small moan of pleasure. It was perfect.

* * *

Three blocks and a very happy, bear-claw-filled stomach later, Beckett nodded to a uniform and then ducked under some crime scene tape, greeting Ryan and Esposito with a nod of her head.

"What do we got?" she shouted out at them

"Hey Beckett. So glad you could join us, " Ryan teased her. "You take a detour through Jersey to get that coffee?"

"And who is 'Detective Heat?'" Esposito smirked as he pointed at her cup. Beckett shot him a confused glare, but then turned her cup to see it was indeed labelled 'Detective Heat', complete with permanent marker flames. Well, that explained all of the cheeky smiles she got as she walked down the street. She rolled her eyes, grinned, and turned back to her two colleagues, who were trying desperately not to snicker.

"Oh, shut up." she shook her head at them and pressed through them towards the body.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: I am truly sorry this chapter took so long to write. I had everything planned out and then one very insightful review made me re-consider the whole thing, and I've been rewriting this chapter ever since, weighing what pieces of information to give away. Anyway, to make up for the absence, it's a little longer, and now chapters should be coming on a much more regular basis. Thank you for staying with me. -I**_

* * *

Rick leaned back against the counter for a moment and surveyed the coffee house. It was Sunday evening, and the place had lost the hustle and bustle of its regular weekday clientele, leaving the place with a much different atmosphere. He had dimmed the overhead lighting after sunset, and had placed candles at each table, bathing the place in a warm, golden glow. It was a much more cozy and romantic setting, much more conducive to small, intimate, weekend get-togethers. Rick was always thinking about setting.

Men and women in business suits were replaced by young couples on first dates, and old college friends catching up on life's happenings. Occasionally someone would curl up in an armchair with a book in one hand - often a Patterson, much to his eternal jealousy - and a warm beverage in another. Usually, he liked to let his eyes drift between patrons, trying to guess each one's story. He couldn't do it on the weekdays - things were much too busy, and Rob, the manager, always seemed to be peering over his shoulder - but on Sundays he could relax and do something that truly brought him pleasure. _Was the couple at table four on a first date? Were they carrying on a secret affair? Were they high school sweethearts or did they meet online?_

Today, though, he found his thoughts drifting to Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide and what she might be doing this evening. _Was she out on a date? At home, watching television? Holed up in the precinct like so many other nights?_ He didn't know. He really didn't know anything about her, other than the fact that she liked to stay late at the precinct...but he wanted to know everything.

* * *

Kate rearranged the pictures on the murder board again.

"Oh come on, Beckett. The game starts in fifteen minutes. Can't we call it a night?" Esposito whined. Beckett hushed him.

"We're getting closer. Let's go over what we have on the brother again. We know that the victim placed a call to him shortly before her death. Do we have anything that ties him to the scene of the crime yet?"

"Beckett, forensics results won't even be in until tomorrow. Come on, we've been at this all weekend. Don't you have somewhere else you want to be right now?" Ryan turned on the puppy dog stare. Kate knew that he was eager to get home to spend some time with Jenny. Home was the last place Kate wanted to be right now, alone, with thoughts of the crimescene buzzing around her head.

"Alright," she relented, "you two take off for the evening. I'm just going to stay here a little while longer and go over the traffic cam footage one more time." She caught the quiet look exchanged between Ryan and Esposito. They were torn between freedom, and convincing her that she needed to leave as well. "It'll just be another ten minutes, and then I'm out of here too." That seemed to set them at ease, and they pulled on jackets, heading for the elevators.

* * *

An hour later, and even Beckett had to admit that there was nothing that could be done until the forensics came in the next day. Sighing and tidying up her desk, she grabbed her jacket and headed out into the night. Still, she wasn't ready to go home. It was a clear night, with a pleasant chill in the air, and she decided to walk home, killing a little time. Maybe she would head by the Angelica and see if there was a late night double feature.

She had only wandered a couple of blocks when her eyes caught on the soft golden lighting coming from a certain coffee shop. Somewhere, in the back of her head, a half formed memory of "Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays" snuck its way to the surface. Crossing the street, she peered in the window, and there Castle was, casually leaning against the counter, lost in thought. He was wearing a dark brown apron with the coffee shop logo on the front, and a light blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing muscular forearms. His hair was lightly tousled, a little fluffy from the steam, and it gave him a slightly boyish look. Her lips curved into a little half smile. Entering the coffee shop, she quietly took a seat at the counter, just off to the side, and stared intently at him, but didn't want to pull him out of his thoughts just yet.

After a couple minutes, she became impatient and cleared her throat. He startled, but recovered.

"I was under the impression, Detective, that staring was creepy," he said with mock-indignance, before grinning.

"Only when you do it, Castle." she shot back, matching his grin.

"Can I get you something? Maybe a grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup?"

"You remembered!" Beckett's eyebrows shot up, impressed. Rick beamed proudly for a moment, but shrugged non-chalantly.

"I always make it a point to remember the beverage orders of my armed customers as a self-preservation instinct," he quipped, earning a scoff. A minute later, he placed a steaming hot beverage in front of her, this time with a milk smiley face. She sipped appreciatively and let her face mimic the milk.

"So, two jobs, huh? Sounds like you work almost as much as I do. Saving up for a Ferrari Castle?" she teased.

"Ahh, yes. And with tips like tonight, I should have that Ferrari in about, oh, three hundred years time," he mused. "No, I have a daughter," his eyes softened, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through a few pictures, before displaying one of a pretty, teenaged red head. "Her name's Alexis. She's the best thing that ever happened to me: beautiful, sweet, whip smart. Even when she was little, she was something special. She got a partial scholarship to one of those fancy private schools, but...well, even with the scholarship, they're not exactly cheap. And there are violin lessons, and extra-curriculars. I knew right from the beginning it would mean hard work, but I can't say it hasn't been worth it." he smiled proudly.

Beckett was taken aback a little. She didn't expect him to have a child, especially a teenager. She mentally re-estimated Castle's age.

"Right after college, in case you were wondering," he said, reading her mind. "I get that reaction a lot."

"And her mother?" Beckett mentally chided herself after she asked. It was none of her business, but she hadn't seen him wearing a wedding ring and..._wait...when had she looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring?_

"Her mother is an actress. She lives in California. She's where the other half of the ferrari money goes."

"Oh, so..."

"We're divorced," he confirmed. "It was a long time ago."

"Were you an actor then too?" she guessed, taking a leap. He frowned at her. "It's just that...your voice...is very theatrical sometimes. Good projection, and well...I had friends who were aspiring Broadway actors..."

"But who took odd jobs, like becoming baristas and janitors to pay the bills while they waited for a real job?" he finished her thought with a wry grin. She winced. She hadn't meant for it to come out that way.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my-"

"A writer," he stated, his voice becoming far away for a moment. "I wanted to become a writer."

"Oh, really? What kind of writer?" she inquired, curious.

"A novelist. A mystery novelist. Actually, when I was growing up, I wanted to write the next James Bond."

"Ian Fleming. I read every single, last one growing up."

"You did?"

"I was a big fan of the genre." she explained.

"Not anymore though?"

"Not a lot of time for reading nowadays. I guess I just fell out of it. Do you still write?" Rick thought momentarily about how lame it would seem to still write after almost two decades of rejection.

"Yeah," he blurted, before he could decide against it. "I still write novels. It's why I like working here. When it's quiet, like today, I can observe people, for inspiration. For example, take the man sitting in the corner over there by himself. He comes in every Sunday evening, stays for exactly an hour and a half, looks wistfully out the window the entire time, never says a word, and then leaves."

"So, maybe he's a creature of habit." Beckett tries.

"Or maybe he met a beautiful woman here, once, years ago, fell deeply in love, spent the whole evening talking to her, and at the end of the evening she slipped him her number, but when he got home, he dug through his pockets only to find that the napkin with her telephone number had slipped out of his pocket. And he never saw her again. But he comes here every week, silently hoping that she'll walk through the door again."

Beckett, without realizing it, had leaned in, transfixed by the story, and noticed, with a start, that her face was only inches from Castle's. She jumped back a bit, but Rick had caught on to the proximity and his eyes were raking over her face with interest, pleased with his newfound power over her.

"Want to try another one?" he asked eagerly, ignoring the slight flush that had crept into her cheeks. He motioned over to the couple in the corner. "What about them? What do you think their story is?"

* * *

Hours passed, and Rick was surprised to realize that the coffee shop had emptied and it was near closing time. Beckett had proven surprisingly good at sizing up people in his little game, with her detective skills, and they had traded partially made up stories about coffee patrons all night. She had adopted a relaxed posture, elbows propped up on the counter, her head resting in one of her hands, eyelids drooping slightly.

"I had a good time tonight, Castle," she murmured sleepily. "It got my mind off of things."

"Case things?" he guessed. She nodded silently. "You've been working all weekend?" She gave him another nod. "Well, I'm glad I could be of service. Listen, I just have to do a quick clean up back here. Can I walk you home? Not because - I mean, obviously you can take care of yourself. You're a police officer, but, you know, it's late, and I've kept you, and you're probably tired and I thought maybe you could use some company, to keep you awake." In his eagerness to seem casual about it, Rick had done the exact opposite. He really just wanted to continue talking to her.

"Yeah. I'd like that." she said, casually, and Rick wondered how she managed it.

* * *

The walk home was a little quieter, but companionable. Rick talked a little bit more about his family, his flamboyant mother, silly little stories that popped into his head. Finally, several blocks later, they arrived at Beckett's apartment, riding up in the elevator together.

"Home sweet home." Beckett murmured, jingling her keys as they reached her door. "You didn't have to walk me right to my door, you know."

"You never know when sleep will strike." He shrugged. "You could have fallen asleep in the elevator, and then what kind of walk-home service would I be?"

"Well thank you, Castle. That was sweet." she said, and felt herself lingering.

"Well, I should get going."

"Yeah. Goodnight?"

"Until tomorrow, detective." Rick turned to leave.

"Oh Castle?" Beckett called after him as he walked down the hallway. He turned to her with a curious look.

"Next time we run across each other, bring one of your books."

"One of my...you want to read my books?" he asked, stunned. She shrugged.

"Might be fun."

"Okay." He nodded vigorously, trying to hide the excitement that was coursing through his body. He took a few steps backward, towards the elevators, and walked into a plastic house plant. She stifled a smile.

"Goodnight, Castle." she repeated, slipping into her apartment. Once she was completely inside, he did a little dance in the hallway._ She wanted to read his books!_

* * *

Beckett slumped against the door, eyes closed, a slight smile curving the corners of her mouth. She sighed and steeled herself, before opening them to look around her apartment. It was sparsely furnished, except for the walls, which were covered, top to bottom, with papers, maps, and photos, tacked to every surface, and spread along every piece of furniture - tables, chairs, even in piles on the floor. There were pictures of weapons, and blood spatter, pale headshots of corpses, mugshots of criminals, and on the closest wall, a number of photos of a crime scene, a middle-aged woman with dark hair in a business suit, laid splayed in an alley, dead.

Trembling a little, she caressed the photo lightly as she passed, and sat down, cross-legged, on the floor in front of the wall.

"Hi, Mom," she whispered softly. "Sorry I'm late."

And then her focus was riveted to the wall, and she knew that there would be no sleep again tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

The digital chirp of Rick's cell phone signaled that it was time to wake up. And today he smiled. He rolled over, across the lumpy sofa bed mattress, across the spring that dug into his ribs and smiled. He smiled because it was Monday. And Monday was the day he got to see Kate.

He tidied up, showered, headed to the kitchen, and started breakfast. He hummed, ignoring the withering looks he received from his mother, and his daughter's reminder that the rest of the world did not share his appreciation of the beginning of the workweek. He just kissed Alexis on the head and added extra marshmallows and chocolate chips to his smorlette. He did not care what the rest of the world thought. He loved Mondays. Mondays were amazing, fantastic, sensational.

* * *

Kate Beckett blinked hard, suddenly alert. _Had she been sleeping? _She scrubbed her hand over her face, holding her tired head. She was sitting up, on the floor, back pressed up against the sofa, surrounded by papers, the autopsy photo in her hands showing her mother's stab wounds. It was strange, Kate thought, to associate this clinical photo of pale lifeless flesh, with her mother, that this picture of rough, red gashes had been her abdomen when she was living. She shook the thoughts away and tried to focus on the photo, and exactly what about it had triggered a reaction in her last night. Something about the photo seemed familiar, somehow. Maybe it was a case she'd worked recently. She'd have to check the archives again.

Working late afforded Kate the opportunity to slip down into the archives unnoticed. She had been doing it for a while now. Montgomery caught her once, as a rookie, but never again. She was too careful - too cautious. Her collection had grown as her investigation took on different forms: gang-related murders, murders of female victims in the area, stabbing victims, murdered lawyers, a list of her mom's clients and coworkers, timelines, alibis, all laid out carefully across the walls and the floor. Every surface of her apartment had become part of the murder board, and yet she had still not solved the crime. There was no justice anywhere to be found. It had made her harder, more cynical, and yet more passionate. All too often, detectives were too eager to close a case. Innocent people went to jail. The guilty parties went free. Victims, families, people like Kate, were given perfunctory explanations and apologies. She made made it her life's mission to not become that type of cop. Yet, justice for her mother still eluded her.

It had been like this since the night she died, since that tired detective Raglan dismissed it as just random gang violence. She'd just gotten lost in the murder. Every night she thought about it, every night it kept her up, and even when she slept, she dreamed about it. Sure, she'd tried distracting herself, with men, sometimes, or alcohol, or other murder cases. Nothing really worked though, and most nights, even when she tried to stay away, she'd end up home, alone, with the weight of her great failure weighing down on her.

Her phone's alarm clock chirped and Kate sighed, looking at her watch. So much for sleep. Carefully tacking the crime scene photo back to its spot on the wall, and rearranging some papers, she made a few notes in a notebook she kept, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before work.

* * *

Rick Rodgers stood in front of a bookshelf contemplatively, his hands hovering over coil-bound manuscripts. Lost in thought, he didn't hear his daughter come through the door, home from school. She stood behind him for a while, trying to piece together what he was doing.

"Dad? ...Dad! ...Earth to dad?" Rick's ears eventually picked up the sound of her voice, and he turned around, startled.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked.

"Too long. What are you doing?"

"You've read my novels. Which one would you say was the best? I'm giving one to a _...friend_ to read." The hesitance around the word friend told Alexis that the friend was a woman, and probably the woman who fueled his humming and smorelette-making this morning. She turned and contemplated the bookshelf of unpublished manuscripts, selecting them carefully.

"A Rose for Ever After? In A Hail of Bullets? A Brewing Storm? Those are my favorites. Just...maybe not Hell Hath No Fury." She made a face at him. "Angry Wiccans, dad?"

"Hey! I will have you know that... okay fine. Clearly not my best work." Rick pouted, unable to defend the novel. Alexis pressed In A Hail of Bullets into his chest.

"I'm sure she'll love it dad. They're great books. I hope one day the rest of the world gets to read them too." She smiled encouragingly at him and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better.

Peering up at the clock, Rick startled. He needed to be on his way soon.

"Oh! I've got to get ready for work. There's dinner in the refrigerator for later," he said, turning away from Alexis and checking his hair and teeth in the mirror. Alexis shook her head at him, and suppressed a smile. Whoever this mystery woman was, he had it bad for her.

* * *

Esposito got off the phone with a uniform down in booking.

"Alright! The fiance is in custody! Hook. Line. Sinker. That's a wrap, my friends." Esposito fist-bumped Ryan. The case they had started Friday had finally started to come together once forensics results came in, and it seemed like every road pointed to the victim's fiance.

"I think this calls for a celebratory drink! Paperwork can wait until tomorrow, am I right?" Ryan looked between Esposito and Beckett, who was paying no attention to the two and still staring at the murder board, forehead furrowed. "Beckett? Am I right?"

"Hey, Beckett." Esposito tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. "Case closed. Ryan and I are going to go grab a drink in celebration. You coming?" Kate took a moment to shake herself out of her train of thought.

"Uh...I don't think so, guys. Not this time." She stifled a yawn. "I think I'm going to go and maybe get a head start on the paperwork before I head home."

"Oh come on, Beckett," Ryan pleaded with her, "That's what you said last time. The paperwork isn't going anywhere. It'll still be here tomorrow." He knew the case was lost when Kate turned back to the murderboard, head tilted, as if considering something.

"No, you two go ahead," she said, her voice far off, "I'm going to stick around and check a couple things out."

Esposito rolled his eyes at Ryan. She always did this. They'd find her here, tomorrow, just like this, having never left, still pursuing leads, until the captain made her stop and go home.

"'Night, Beckett." Ryan tried, but he only got a half-hearted wave. Beckett was already fixated on the murderboard again.

* * *

Rick couldn't help but smile when he showed up at the precinct and saw the light on in the homicide window. _She was here! _He had started worrying on the way over that she might not be. He tightened his grip on the small duffel bag he carried with him, which held the copy of his manuscript. Still, he forced himself to go about his routine as if it was just a normal day. He started with the first floor offices and worked his way up, wiping down desks, mopping floors, scraping gum left on the undersides of chairs, spraying a layer of sanitizer over everything.

When he got to homicide, he allowed himself a moment in the washroom to check his hair, and wash most of the chemical scent and grime off. Happy with the results, he walked out in search of his favorite homicide detective. Heading first to the white board, he was disappointed when he didn't see her there. From the looks of things, they were still working a case from last Friday. Castle noticed that the crime scene was only a couple blocks away from the coffee house.

Looking around, he almost didn't see her at first. Her head was down on the desk, partially hidden behind a stack of files and her computer monitor. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. He wondered if he should wake her. She had looked pretty tired the other night when she had paid him a visit at work, and from the look of the dark circles underneath her eyes, she hadn't gotten much sleep last night either. Maybe he would just leave the book for her. Carefully, he drew it out of his bag, and placed it gingerly on the stack of files at her desk. He would leave her a note. He fumbled around her desk until he found a pen and some Post-it notes and he knelt down beside her to write.

_Dear Detective,_

_You were asleep when I stopped by, but I wanted to give you one of my novels. There's no need to read it right away, but let me know what you think one day. _

_~Castle~_

After he finished his note, he turned and allowed himself to survey her sleeping form. Her eyebrows were knit together, much like when she looked at the murder board, and her lips worked, as if she were mouthing thoughts to herself. She inhaled sharply and her fingers gripped the desk tightly._ She was dreaming, and not a good dream either, from the look of it. Maybe he should wake her? _He very carefully moved an errant lock of hair that had fallen on her forehead, and tucked the strands behind her ear. _She probably needs her sleep. Go now, before you do something even creepier._ Bracing his hands, he moved to stand, but his knee popped and there was a sudden intake of breath as she opened her eyes.

"Castle?" she asked, confused and groggy.

"Hey, I uh..." he stammered, suddenly aware of their proximity, and shot up, taking a few steps back, "I brought you one of my novels. I was leaving you a note because, well, you were asleep, so..." She swallowed thickly and blinked slowly at him, still waking.

"What time is it?" she asked, her question giving way to a yawn.

"Uhh...9:30. Maybe time for you to go home?" he offered. She shook her head.

"Maybe just...a coffee? There's a pot in the break room. Would you like one? Can you take a break?" Rick shrugged. He'd never taken one before. Stretching, she stood and wandered into the break room, coming back with two mugs of something that smelled disturbingly unlike coffee. She handed him one before plopping back down into her chair and taking a sip. Rick raised his mug in salute, and then did the same. Then the liquid hit his tongue.

He coughed, spluttered, and then finally spit the offensive liquid out of his mouth, taking a tissue from the box on her desk and attempting to scrape it off his tongue.

"What - ON EARTH - is THAT?" he choked. The taste seemed to have permanently fused with his tongue. "Ugh! It tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid. Why would you drink that stuff?" She looked at him, amused.

"You get used to it."

"I don't think I could ever get used to that," he complained sourly. Standing up quickly, he strode towards the break room. "I need to see your machine." He came out, moments later, peering into the cheap, plastic percolator.

"I don't think this thing has been cleaned out since the Nixon administration" he muttered. "I don't know why you're using this anyway. There's a perfectly good espresso machine sitting in the supply closet downstairs gathering dust.

"It doesn't work." she shrugged. "Something's broken."

"Do you mind if I take a look at it?" he asked, hopeful.

"Sure. Knock yourself out." she grinned at him. He certainly was eager to please. She liked that.

"I should...I should head back to work. Are you going to stay and work the case for a bit?" She nodded. "It looks like a tough one."

"Uhh...well, we wrapped it tonight. All roads lead to the fiance, but..."

"But you don't think he did it?" Rick offered.

"I just...there's something wrong...something we're missing and I can't figure it out. Remember last night, there was that couple in the coffee house, and it looked like they were on a first date..."

"...except the man had a wedding ring on and the woman didn't"

"...and then we realized that looked like a first date was actually an affair."

"So you don't like the story you've written." Rick concluded.

"It's not a story, Castle."

"Well sure it is," he defended, motioning at the board. "You have characters, setting, plot..." Now he was focused on the murder board just as intently as she was. They sat in silence, staring at it for a few minutes before Kate spoke again.

"I thought you had to get back to work?"

"Oh. Right! I - I guess I'll see you later." He headed back towards his cart of cleaning supplies, but turned back towards the board, walking backwards for a few steps, trying to memorize the information. Something did seem fishy.

* * *

Kate leaned back in her desk chair, trying to make her tired eyes focus on the white board. Slowly, they began to drift shut again, and her breathing deepened and evened. Still, her mind whirred away. _There was something she was missing...something she was..._

Her eyes popped open. She knew who did it! She had to tell someone. Springing up from her desk, she headed for the staircase. She wondered if Castle was still around.

* * *

Rick was mopping the eighth floor bathroom, but his thoughts were still on the case downstairs. Kate had been right. Something did seem a little off about the story. Timelines and evidence buzzed around his head and he rearranged them, tried to fit them into a plot that made sense.

Suddenly, he dropped the mop. He knew who did it. He had to go tell Kate. He ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time, hearing another set of footsteps below. They met around the sixth floor.

"I KNOW WHO THE KILLER IS!" they both exclaimed at once.


	6. Chapter 6

"It was the brother!"

Kate practically assaulted Montgomery as he stepped off the elevator in the early hours of the morning.

"Detective Beckett! What are you doing here so early in the morning? You're going to give a man a heart attack."

"It was the brother!" she said again, practically bouncing on the balls of her heeled feet.

"What was the brother? The case from Friday? I thought you wrapped that last night? Don't we have the fiancé in custody?"

"We do, but we were wrong. Come take a look!" She led him over to the murder board.

"Okay so...wait, who's this?" Montgomery motioned to Rick, who was correcting something on the white board.

"Oh...Sir, this is Castle."

"Castle?"

"He works nights." Beckett provided.

"I do custodial work." Rick added, embarrassed, motioning to his coveralls.

"And when did he become a member of my homicide department?"

"Sir, he helped me piece together the case." Kate insisted.

"Well, shouldn't he be cleaning toilets or something?" Montgomery looked at Castle critically.

Just then, Ryan and Esposito stepped off the elevator together. Esposito saw Beckett first and nudged Ryan in the shoulder.

"See? I told you, bro. Still here. Pay up."

"Hey guys!" Beckett greeted them, excitedly. "Come over here! I know who the killer is!" (Esposito mockingly mouthed it with her, like he was expecting it).

"Yeah, we know who the killer is too, Beckett. Except we went home last night. Remember? We wrapped the case?" Ryan reminded her, patronizingly.

"No no! It was the brother!"

"The brother?!" Ryan and Esposito said in unison, turning to one another.

"Oh, it's so cute how they do that!" Rick chimed in.

"Who's this guy?" They said together, again, and then glared at each other.

"This is Castle." Beckett introduced him. Rick waved awkwardly, with a small smile. "He helped me to piece together the case last night."

"I cleaned the coffee maker." Rick quipped self-deprecatingly, raising a mug to his lips.

"You can clean those things?" Esposito asked, confused. Ryan shakes his head in embarrassment.

"Yes. It makes a huge difference. In fact, let me get you three gentlemen a cup." Rick disappeared into the break room for a moment, and came back with a tray with mugs, sugar, and milk, presenting them with a flourish. The three newly-arrived cops took cautious sniffs first before sipping at the mugs.

"My God...this actually tastes like coffee!" Montgomery said, awed.

"Good java, bro!" Esposito clapped Rick on the shoulder, and nodded with respect.

"I think I like this guy." Ryan saluted Rick with his mug. "Very good, Coffee-man." Rick beamed, and turned to Beckett who was grinning at him, proudly for winning over her colleagues.

"Anyway, so last night I was here going over the case again," Beckett started, "and Castle..."

"RODGERS!"

Five heads whipped around to find a pot-bellied, middle-aged man in a polo-shirt and blazer bounding towards them, lanyard and ID badge swinging as he went.

"RODGERS!" he yelled again, and the detectives turned to each other, mouthing "Rodgers?", confused as to which of them he could be yelling at. The man came to a halt in front of Castle, and placed his hands on his hips in an imposing manner, which was difficult to pull off, considering that he was a full foot shorter than the man he was confronting.

"There you are, Rodgers!" I got a call this morning that none of the trash cans on the ninth floor were emptied last night, and then I find your cart abandoned in the eighth floor restrooms, and then I come down here and find you drinking coffee like you're on a break!" The man barked accusingly.

"No, Mr. Hernandez, I...you see...I ran into the detective last night, and there was this murder investigation, and then I was cleaning the washrooms on the eighth floor, and then..."

"He was helping me with a murder investigation, sir." Beckett interceded, stepping in between the two men.

"Well, with all due respect, detective, we don't pay Rodgers here to solve murders," Mr. Hernandez began. Beckett raised an eyebrow at Rick and mouthed "Rodgers" at him, and Rick knew that they would have a talk about that later.

"You know, I'll go up right now and finish. It won't take me that long. I'll be done by..." Rick looked at his watch. Oh no. He looked up in alarm. His other job! He was late already! He held his head in his hands. He had no idea what to do. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hey Rob! I'm running a little bit late this morning. I..." Rick was cut off by the sound of very insistent yelling coming from the other end of the phone conversation. He winced. "No I can't...look, I need another hour. I...yeah, I understand." He hung up the phone, deflated and sat down on the edge of a desk, his arms hanging limply by his sides.

"Castle?" Beckett came over beside him and put a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

"If I'm not over at the coffee house in half an hour I'm fired," Rick said, dejectedly.

"Well, if you don't finish cleaning the top three floors of this office, you're fired from this job, too, Rodgers!" Hernandez insisted, angrily. "Make a choice. And don't think you're getting paid for this..." he motioned at the whiteboard, "whatever you were doing all night!"

Rick swallowed. He couldn't really do without either job. The janitorial work paid more, but sometimes, when his tips at the coffee shop were good, he could afford extra things, like his new smart phone, or Alexis' ski trip. Either way, without both jobs, he wouldn't be able to cover next month's bills and rent. He was lost. He had done such a stupid thing, and now he was going to pay dearly. He wanted to cry.

Beckett walked back over to Ryan, Esposito and Montgomery, and spoke to them in hushed tones for a minute. They all nodded their heads after a moment, and Beckett walked back over and pulled Hernandez to the side, quickly. They spoke momentarily, and soon they were agreeing as well. She returned to Rick, after a moment.

"Hey Castle, go to the coffee shop." She said softly, but insistently.

"But, I -"

"Go. I'll take care of it, okay?" Castle swallowed, and nodded glumly.

* * *

Rob was not pleased.

Rick walked into the coffee shop with ten minutes to spare before his deadline. The morning line of patrons was already stretched around the block, and Rob's coffee-jockeying skills were not making things go any faster.

"Rick! There you are! Get your butt behind this counter now!" Rob burst out in frustration as soon as he laid eyes on Rick. Rick excused his way through the people in line, saying a rushed good morning to a few of them, who looked relieved to know that things were going to speed up from here on out. Squeezing around the counter, he threw an apron over his head and started in on the next customer in line.

"Hey! The regular, Steve? Two mochaccinos, extra foam coming right up."

"Don't think this is over, Rick. We're going to talk later." Rob warned, sticking a finger into Rick's shoulder, and headed towards his usual spot in the back, where he texted his girlfriend and made pithy Twitter comments all day.

* * *

It was later in the afternoon, and things were slowing down. It had been a long day, and Rick was exhausted, missing his nap between jobs, and he had agreed to stay later in the evening to make up for his absence this morning. He kept risking glances back at Rob, and his goateed, bespectacled glare, waiting for the axe to drop. Furiously polishing the counter to calm his nerves, he looked up, momentarily, as a customer approached. He was greeted with a sympathetic half-smile.

"Hey," Beckett said.

"Hey," he sighed.

"Are you - is everything okay here?" she asked. Rick hazarded a glance back at Rob, who was watching him carefully.

"I don't know. I don't think I can talk right now." Rick looked at his feet. Kate glanced back at the manager, who had already started to come over.

"Can I get you anything ma'am? Rick is at work right now, and doesn't have time to socialize." he sneered. Rick's shoulders slumped, and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for Rob to finally lay into him. Kate looked back and forth between the two men for a second, before she set her jaw and gave Rob a hard look.

"Yeah, I would like to speak to the manager. Outside." she commanded, sharply, putting on her best interrogation face, wheeling around and heading out the door into the street. Giving Rick a withering look, Rob followed her out onto the sidewalk. From his place behind the counter, Rick couldn't make out what was being said, but soon Rob was taking shuffling steps backwards, and wringing his hands under the heat of a fiery NYPD glare, flinching every few moments, and suddenly finding his shoes interesting. Kate walked back in after a few minutes, leaving a pale looking Rob a minute to collect himself outside.

"You aren't fired," she stated matter-of-factly. "And Rob's going to do his best to treat you like a human being from now on."

"I -"

"Let me finish. Esposito, Ryan and I took care of the top three floors after we apprehended the brother. Mr. Hernandez agreed to pay you based on your normal number of hours at the precinct. Your job there is fine too. Montgomery says you'll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement due to your exposure to confidential information. I told him you'd be by tomorrow to take care of it." Rick sighed, letting all of the information wash over him. He was at a loss for words. All day long, he thought about his mother, and Alexis, and how he'd failed him both, how he was going to explain his firing to them, all because he got caught up playing detective. His mouth worked soundlessly, trying to convey relief he had not fully processed.

"Oh, and one more thing. If you're going to do a detective's work, I figure you might as well get paid like one." she handed over a thin envelope. "That's from me. For your help last night. And for making things fun." She gave him a small smile. Rick looked up, truly speechless, his eyes a little watery.

"Tha-"

"And I'd like a grande skim latte with two pumps sugar free vanilla. When you have a chance." She rested her elbow on the counter, and looked around the coffee shop, pretending to wait for her coffee. Grinning, Rick nodded furiously and went to work on her coffee.

"Now, about this Rodgers thing..." she started, when he had returned, giving him a look.

* * *

Kate Beckett breezed through her door, happily, but tired, latte in hand, eased out of her heels, and shrugged off her messenger bag. It had been a good day. Justice had been done. They'd caught the bad guy - the real bad guy. And, with no small amount of negotiating, she was able to help a good guy, Rick...Rodgers, to keep his job. _Rodgers. Hmm. She liked Castle better._

She turned to the tornado of papers that was her apartment, and eased open her bag to retrieve the files she'd copied from the archives last night. Pulling the files, she saw the bound manuscript sitting on top.

"In a Hail of Bullets." she read the title to herself. She was curious. Dropping the files off to one side for later, she opened to the first page, and started the first chapter.

* * *

Hours later, Rick trudged through the door of his apartment, leaning heavily against the wall, he toed his shoes off of sore feet.

"Hey dad!" Alexis greeted him from the small kitchen table, surrounded by textbooks, doing homework. "You're late! And you left early this morning too. I didn't even see you."

Soundlessly, he plopped himself down next to her, and laid his head down on the table, too tired, too shell-shocked to think.

"Did you have a rough day?" Alexis asked, concerned.

"I'm not sure if today was the worst day of my life, or the best." He flashed back through the hours of not knowing if he had a job future, to the night before, explaining his theory, hunched over evidence documents at her desk, Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide leaned in close, looking over his shoulder, filling in bits along the way, finishing his thoughts, excitedly pulling document from files as they built a case together. He felt something that he hadn't felt in so long, outside of his writing. He felt alive.

* * *

**_Author's Notes: Just a thank you to all of the really kind, and very interesting and insightful reviews I've gotten thus far. They mean a lot. I try to respond where I feel a response is required, but I am really thankful for each and every one._**

**_anon 11/10/13 . chapter 5_**

Just think, why would a detective even notice a janitor? Except this one flaw, i love your writing.

**_Sometimes, in fiction-land, something incredible that might normally not occurs, occurs, and that's where the story starts. What kind of homicide department is going to let a writer shadow them on cases? But, my answer to this is that Kate notices Rick for the same reason that Rick notices Kate. They are literally the only people who exist in this space at this time. Alone. Together._**


	7. Chapter 7

_Detective Beckett sprinted determinedly after the coffee shop manager as he frantically attempted to make an escape and slammed him into the counter, his thick, black, hipster glasses becoming dislodged from his head and clattering to the floor. He struggled, but she slammed her body into him again, knocking the wind out of him as she pulled the metal cuffs from her belt. He let out a breathless groan. Blowing a piece of hair out of her face, she began to read him his rights._

_"You're under arrest for the murder of..." _

Ding! Rick's train of thought was interrupted by the oven-timer.

Rick triple-saved, turned from his laptop and sniffed the air. Throwing on a pair of novelty Star Wars oven mitts, he glided to the oven, pulled the door open, and carefully removed two trays of pastries, transferring them to a cooling rack. There was a basket lined with wax paper already piled halfway with various baked goods to take with him to the precinct today.

"It smells like heaven in here! Oh, Richard, you're baking! Don't they look just delicious!" Martha drifted into the kitchen in her silk dressing gown. "And I appear to be just in time to help you out by sampling them for quality control purposes," she sang, snagging a pastry out of the basket.

"Uh-uh! Mother, those are for the precinct." Rick chastised her, but it was already too late.

"Well even more reason, darling. If anyone knows a good donut, it's a police officer, and my this IS a fantastic donut." Martha said around a bite of warm dough. "Wait a minute! I thought the precinct was on Mondays dear, and - did you shave?" Rick ran a hand over his jaw self-consciously.

"Yeah, I uh...I have to go down to the precinct this morning and sign some confidentiality papers. I uhh...I ended up helping out a little bit on a case Monday evening."

"Really? You helped out the police, Richard? However did you manage to do that? And haven't they all gone home by the time you come around to clean the building?" Martha asked, skeptically.

"Well, yeah, most of them are usually home for the evening, unless there's a big case but there's this one detective..." Rick started.

"Go on," said Martha, intrigued.

"Well she stays late almost every Monday and we've gotten to talking lately, and -"

"She huh?"

"Well, yes."

"I see." Martha raised her eyebrow, her innuendo evident.

"No, it's not like that, Mother," Rick sighed, running his hand through his hair, "I mean, we have been talking a bit lately, but I think it's just friendly conversation. Usually, we're the only two people there at night and -"

"How cozy!" Martha commented, a little smirk playing across her lips. Richard did his best to ignore it and continue on with his story.

"Well, anyway, she stayed late Monday working on a case and we talked about it a little bit, and we ended up solving it together." He smiled proudly, bouncing a bit.

"So that's why Alexis said you were acting strangely yesterday."

"No. Not exactly," Rick said, turning his gaze away. "I...got into a little bit of trouble. I may have gotten a little too caught up in solving the case and I sort of forgot to clean a few offices." He pulled a pained face, awaiting his mother's onslaught.

"Oh Richard! Please don't tell me you've gotten yourself fired." Martha threw her hands up.

"No, but it was a close call. I almost did, and then I was late for the coffee shop, and Rob was angry "

"Richard!"

"but Detective Beckett -"

"Your lady detective friend?" Martha asked, eagerly.

"Yeah. She really went to bat for me. She smoothed things over at the precinct, and then she came down to the coffee shop and talked to Rob, and I don't know what she said, but you should have seen his face, Mother. I think he almost peed himself." Rick grinned to himself, remembering the scene from yesterday.

"Sounds like she really saved your bacon, kiddo. So all this baking is for her?"

"Well, her, and some of the guys in her department. They don't even know me, but they did a good deed yesterday, and I just wanted to do something for them to say thank you."

"Well, I'd say the best darned bear claws in the city are a good start."

* * *

Beckett yawned, and stretched leisurely,smiling, before rearranging the blankets and pressing her face back into her pillow. _Wait a minute..._ She popped one eye open cautiously and peered around. _She was in bed! She had slept...in bed. She hadn't done that in...she couldn't remember how long. _She sat up, sleep addled and confused, trying to remember what happened last night after she got home. Placing her hands down on the bed for support, she brushed against something solid and flat. She picked it up. _Oh right...the manuscript._

She had started the first chapter after she came in the door last night, finished the third while waiting for the pizza boy, and after chapter five, she had decided to read another chapter in bed before perusing the case files she had copied from the archives. Only, she'd never gotten to the files, and the coil-bound volume laid open somewhere around the end of chapter seven. Which means she must have slept for_...eight hours?! _She glanced again at her watch to double check. _And she probably even had time to read another chapter before wo-._

Her phone buzzed from the night stand, "12th precinct" on display.

"Beckett," she answered authoritatively.

"Yo Beckett, a body dropped." Esposito's voice said from the other end of the line, with a hint of amusement. Usually she was the one calling him. So much for that extra chapter. She grabbed the book anyway. _Maybe on her lunch break._

* * *

"Morning Lanie!" Beckett called out cheerily to the medical examiner on scene, and came to squat a safe distance from the body, looking it over. Lanie's eyes narrowed. "What have we got here?" Beckett asked. Lanie tilted her head to the side and looked at Kate appraisingly.

"What happened to you?" Lanie questioned her, peering intently. Kate opened and closed her mouth at the question, before looking down at herself to make sure that her outfit matched and she didn't have two different shoes on. She looked up, confused.

"What?"

"This -" Lanie continued, motioning a gloved hand up and down in front of her detective friend, "Something's different. You're all..." She paused, looking for the right words. "Chipper. And well-rested." Kate shrugged. "That's not like you. That's not like you at all."

"I got a good night's sleep last night," she admitted. "And they've really improved the quality of coffee at the precinct."

"Who is he?" Lanie's eyes flicked up to Kate's, alert.

"Who's who?" Beckett looked at her blankly.

"Girl!" Lanie swatted at Beckett as if she intended to slap her. "The guy!" She whispered harshly.

"What guy? There's no guy." Beckett insisted, shaking her head slightly. It's not as if she could tell her that she spent the night in bed with David McAllister, fictional rookie NYPD cop, trying to solve the murder of a Broadway actress. Sadly, he was the only guy to see the sheets in her apartment since... _Oh god, she was dating a book._

"Mmm." Lanie replied critically, indicating that the conversation was not over.

"Lanie, there's no guy! Now, just...tell me about the body." She fixated her attention on the corpse laying on the floor.

"Based on temp and lividity, time of death is around six hours ago. Ligature marks suggest strangulation, and oh, here's something you should see." Lanie raised the arm closest to her. "There's some sort of mark here. I have no idea what it is. It'll be something for the knuckledraggers to run down."

"Hey!" Esposito and Ryan shouted, from their relative positions across the room, speaking to local uniforms and CSI, respectively.

"Oh, calm yourselves!" Lanie shouted back at them, before turning back to Beckett. "And don't think you and I are finished talking either."

* * *

Rick strolled off the twelfth precinct elevators, basket of baked goods in hand, and noticed, with wonder, how busy the place looked during the daytime. Uniformed cops bustled in and out, speaking covertly in corners to men and women in suits, clipboards in hand, passing along pieces of paper between them. Rick couldn't help but feel their eyes on him as he passed, and thought that even cleaned up, in a nice button-up and jeans, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He spotted Esposito and Ryan setting up what looked like a new investigation on the white board, while a familiar form sat hunched at her desk, on the phone, shirt sleeves rolled up, scribbling information on a pad of paper. She looked different, somehow, today, brighter, more vibrant than she had at night, when he watched her from the shadows. He wondered if something had happened, or if this was just normal, daytime Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide. Ending her call, she happened to look up at him as he approached.

"Hey Castle," she grinned at him, and motioned him over with a nod of her head. Taking his opening, he strode over to her desk, deposited himself in a chair, lifted the cloth on his basket, and presented Beckett with a bear claw, fashioned with a little Superman-like superhero cape, complete with a K inscribed on a yellow diamond-shape.

"For my hero," he said, earning an eyeroll, and a half-smile.

"Castle, you didn't have to do that," she admonished him lightly, and then smacked his hand when he reached to take the pastry back, "but since you did..." she picked it up and took a victorious bite, smirking at him.

"Hey Coffee-man," Esposito shouted all the way from the white board, "where's my donut?"

"Yeah," Ryan added, "we helped out yesterday too."

Putting on a production of sighing and feeling much put-upon, Rick walked over to the board with his basket. Eyeing both detectives critically, he pondered for a minute before reaching into the basket.

"Esposito, you look like a powdered sugar and jelly kind of guy," he said, while dipping his hand into the basket and then pro-offering a napkin-wrapped donut. "And you, Ryan, hmmmm...I'm going to guess honey crueller," bringing another donut out and handing it over to the shorter man. By the time Ryan had his treat daintily unwrapped, Esposito had already managed to shove the entire thing in his mouth and was chewing animatedly.

"Bfft. Dnnut. Vvvvrrr," he tried to say, offering his fist to bump. Castle accepted.

"Thank you, gentlemen! I think. Your service yesterday will not be forgotten. Hey, I'm going to put the rest of these in the break room. In case anyone else wants some...or, you know, wants a second." Rick said, as Esposito's eyes covetously followed the basket. Returning, he looked around curiously.

"So, you guys are starting a case?" Rick asked, sinking back into the chair beside Beckett. He tilted his head, reading over the white board.

"Hey!" Beckett called out sternly, snapping her fingers to get his attention. "No, Castle. You know what happened last time." Rick pouted.

"We solved the case last time!" he bragged, grinning.

"You almost got yourself fired last time!" she corrected.

"But it's Wednesday. I don't have to work today," he pleaded. Esposito and Ryan's heads swivelled back and forth between the two, placing mental bets on who would win this exchange.

"Yeah, because I saved your behind, Castle. I don't want to make a habit out of it."

"But it's such a nice behind," he flirted. She fixed a challenging glare on him, and he held it. She leaned over him sitting in his chair intimidatingly. Rick got the feeling that she got her way like this a lot. It was certainly having an effect on him.

"Go. Sign your papers, Castle. Or should I say Rodgers? Before you get yourself into trouble." She pushed away suddenly, leaving him staring as she went back to work.

"Legal's down the hall that way, man." Ryan pointed, smirking at Rick's loss. Composing himself, Rick stood up stiffly, pretending it was his own idea, and turned to walk down the hall.

"Fine. I have some papers to sign down the hall. You probably don't need me to tell you what that symbol on her arm means anyway," he tossed nonchalantly over his shoulder as he began to walk away, with a little smirk. He hadn't made it three steps, when Beckett cut off his path, pressing one finger into his chest.

"Sit." she commanded, already regretting her move, as he waggled his eyebrows at her and made a production of reclaiming his seat.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Hi...remember me? I am so sorry I kind of disappeared on you like that. 'Tis the season for my family members to wind up in the hospital. Everyone's okay now. So, back to writing... I hope. *knocks on...whatever this desk is made out of*.

* * *

"Sit," Beckett repeated, giving Rick a gentle shove backwards, and Rick complied with a smirk, situating himself down into the chair beside her desk. Taking her time, Kate walked back around to her side of the desk and sat down in her own chair, clasping her hands on her desk, and leaning forward intently. She raised her eyebrows at him. Rick swallowed. His gambit had paid off, but the intensity with which Kate was staring at him made him a little nervous. His mouth fell open while his brain buzzed away, trying to find a way to explain without making himself out to be a crackpot.

"The symbol?" Beckett prompted after a moment

"Right. The symbol is a Wiccan symbol known as Hecate's wheel. So, your victim might be a practitioner of the Wiccan religion." Rick said, matter-of-factly.

"She's a witch?" Ryan asked, catching on.

"That would be my guess. Yes." Rick said confidently. Suddenly, three pairs of cop eyes were narrowed at him.

"Uhh, bro," Espo started, a bit nervously, "how do you happen to know about this symbol? Are you like...a dude-witch or something? Are you a wizard?"

"Uhh...no," Rick said very carefully, trying to think of how to explain. "Well first of all, male witches are not called wizards. They're just witches. Secondly..." he trailed off for a moment as three sets of eyebrows began to climb towards the ceiling.

"Secondly?" Beckett supplied when he looked at her helplessly.

"It was research," he confessed finally. "I researched it for a novel I was writing."

"Coffee-boy's a writer?" Ryan looked at him incredulously.

"I write mystery novels in my spare time." Rick felt a blush creeping up his face. He really didn't want the other two to know about his little hobby.

"Witch mystery novels?" Esposito rolled the idea around his mouth like it was the old break room coffee.

"Angry Wiccans out for blood." Rick said, defensively. "It was...it wasn't one of my better ideas." The two male cops were studiously avoiding his gaze now, under the guise of consulting their notes, smiles playing on at the corners of their mouths. Beckett shot them a sour look, before piping up.

"I'm sorry," Beckett leaned in conspiratorially towards a sheepish Castle, but spoke loudly enough for half the bullpen to hear. "I failed to mention that my colleagues are complete chuckle-heads who wouldn't know what a book was if one hit them in the face."

"Hey, I read!" Ryan piped up, defensively. Beckett quickly got up from her desk, strode over to Ryan, opened his top drawer, and hauled out a copy of Twilight accusingly. "You just don't understand their love," Ryan muttered, taking the book and shoving it back into his desk, as Esposito snickered behind him.

"Hey, if you're lucky, I might let you read my copy of Castle's book after I'm done with it." Beckett shot at the pair.

"You're reading his book?" Esposito asked incredulously.

"Yes, and it happens to be very good. But for now let's focus on the case. Espo, you go find out whether Lanie's got an ID on our vic. Ryan, I want you to research local Wicca groups in the city, and circulate a picture. See if anything pops. I'm going to escort writer-boy down to legal and then work on a timeline." Beckett mentally ticked off the duties and then headed towards an office, Rick in tow.

"Hey, Beckett, thanks for what you said back there," he spoke, as soon as they were out of listening distance of the other detectives, falling into step beside her. She sent a look his way, and seemed to weigh something for a second, before answering.

"I meant it, you know. It's a good book." She confessed quietly, before looking away again.

"You've really started reading it? I thought that maybe..."

"I started last night out of curiosity," she confirmed. "I'm only a few chapters in, but I like it so far. The David McCallister character - he kind of reminds me a bit of what I was like as a rookie."

"Determined? Passionate? Take no prisoners? Yeah, I could see that," he mused, bringing a smile to her face.

"Something like that," she confirmed, her voice faraway for a second, and Rick knew right then that there was a story behind Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide. He'd suspected it before, even before they'd formally met, when he was just her late-night admirer at the precinct, but now he was sure. He took a minute to study her: the hard set of her jaw spoke of the most grim of determinations, and he knew something had happened to alter the course of her fate and put her here.

"Hey, do you mind if I ask -" he turned to her, suddenly.

"We're here," she said almost instantaneously, cutting him off with a finality in her tone. Rick wondered if she knew what he was about to ask. She avoided his gaze, but held open the door for him to enter, only risking a look after he had gone inside, before walking away.

* * *

"I can see you, you know." Kate said, not even glancing backwards from the murder board, as Rick tried to shuffle up behind her and peek at what she was writing over her shoulder.

"How do you even do that?" he asked, testing his shoes against the ground to see if they made any noise.

"NYPD secret." Kate turned around and waggled her eyebrows mysteriously at him as she capped a marker. "I know that look, Castle. You're going to get yourself in even more trouble. Go home." Rick blinked innocently at her and she rolled her eyes, brushing past him to review the papers spread across her desk.

"You know," he started casually, "the NYPD legal department is very thorough. That non-disclosure agreement prohibits me from not only talking about sensitive information I have seen in the past, but any sensitive information I may witness in the future." He leaned against her desk surreptitiously and tried to steal a stealthy glance over her shoulder at her case notes. Calming the smirk on her face, she wheeled around sharply to block his view, and Rick started when he realized her face was mere inches from his own. He took a step back and bumped shoulders with Captain Montgomery, who was approaching them from his office.

"What's he still doing here?" Montgomery asked Beckett. She took a breath and let her gaze shift between the two men while formulating her answer.

"Actually, Castle...Rodgers here has once again proved very helpful in working a case, Sir," she said cautiously, after a moment. Rick's eyebrows shot up. He wasn't expecting that. He smiled at Kate gratefully.

"Is that so?" Montgomery turned and eyed Rick critically for a second, before turning back to Beckett. "And who gave Mr. Cas-Rodgers...whoever he is...who gave him permission to be part of this investigation?"

"I...well, Sir..." Kate stammered. It wasn't like she had given him permission. She had called him over to her desk. But she had tried to shoo him away.

"It just sort of happened, Sir." Rick took over. "You see, I came by to thank your team for helping me out the other day, and I couldn't help but notice the symbol on the victim's arm in the autopsy photo up there on the murder board. So, I shared my insight with the team." Rick nodded to himself. That sounded good.

"And you're still here because..." Montgomery followed. Oh. Right.

"Well...after Detective Beckett escorted me to legal, and I finished with the paperwork, I came back to ask if I could be of any further assistance before I left." Rick deflated, knowing that he was officially about thirty seconds away from leaving the precinct.

"Well then..." Montgomery urged him to come to the conclusion that it was time to go.

"Sir, you like donuts, don't you?" Beckett interrupted.

"Well, I do enjoy a good apple fritter now and again."

"Well, Rick here brought a whole basket of donuts in as a thank you for our help the other day. And I think I saw some fantastic-looking apple fritters in there. Why don't you head to the break room and take a couple before Espo eats the whole basket?" Montgomery turned to Castle, newly intrigued.

"You brought donuts?" he asked.

"Freshly baked this morning, Sir," Rick confirmed.

"Well," Montgomery nodded, and let his gaze wander over to the break room, "if you're certain that Mr. Castle will be helpful in solving this particular case, and if Mr. Castle doesn't have any outstanding commitments to other jobs...I suppose there's no harm in letting him stay. Apple fritters, huh?" With a last glance back at Rick, Montgomery straightened his suit jacket and headed towards the break room.

Rick turned his gaze back to Beckett, impressed. She shrugged.

"He really likes apple fritters," she whispered.

"So..." Rick started, hesitantly, "I can stay. With your permission, of course."

"Looks like it." Kate said casually. He caught her eyes for a moment and they glimmered conspiratorially.

"Well then..."

"Well then..." They returned to their seats and began looking over Kate's notes.

A few minutes later, Montgomery re-appeared from the break room, sugary-glaze crystals powdering his mustache, and glanced over to see the janitor-turned-coffee-and-donut-man-turned-volunteer-detective pointing at something atop a stack of papers, gesturing animatedly as he told a story. What gave him pause, however, was his lead detective, because he hadn't seen a genuine grin cross Kate Beckett's face in...he wasn't sure he'd ever seen a grin like that on her face. In fact, Kate Beckett had gone through any number of trial partnerings, with hardboiled veteran detectives, with wide-eyed rookies and everything in between, and she had chewed through them all like, well...like Montgomery had just devoured his apple fritter. They couldn't keep up with her drive and her long hours and her triple checking and eventually they all burned out, resigned, and put in for transfers. He had lucked out with Esposito and Ryan, who were diligent enough to deal with her tenacity, but knew when to call it a day. Sometimes they even convinced her to go out for a drink after a long day, but those instances were rare. Smiling at work was something new for Beckett. He liked it, he thought, as he made his way to his office.

* * *

When Lanie showed up shortly after one o'clock, she was surprised to find Kate sitting on the edge of her desk, shoulder-to-shoulder with a very tall detective she'd never seen before. She was pointing out some detail on a report he had in his hands, and whatever it was, she had his absolute rapt attention. _He must be new. Too bad. He was kind of cute._ Walking over Lanie waited for a break in their conversation to announce her presence, but one never came and finally she cleared her throat pointedly. Two heads shot up from the report and blinked at her in surprise.

"Oh! Hi Lanie!" Kate greeted the medical examiner.

"Are you two finished yet? I only have an hour for lunch and I've already spent too much of it watching you two cuddle." Kate rolled her eyes at Lanie's pot shot and started her introductions.

"Castle...Rick, this is Lanie. She's a friend of mine and the medical examiner working the case. Lanie, this is Rick. He's...consulting on this case," she finished, uncertainly.

"A new detective?" Lanie questioned, shaking Castle's hand politely.

"No...not exactly. I'll explain over lunch." Kate said.

"Mmmhmm, you will definitely be doing some explaining over lunch." Lanie's tone of voice indicated that this would be a major topic in their lunchtime conversation.

Kate turned to Castle, not really knowing what to do with him while she went on her girl's-only outing with Lanie. He looked at her helplessly.

"Maybe you could have lunch with Ryan and Espo?" She glanced hopefully over at their desks, and Esposito looked up from his phone call and gave her a nod, waving Castle over.

"Come on, bro. We'll take care of you. We know a deli that makes the best pastrami sandwiches in all the boroughs. Isn't that right, Ryan?"

"Guys-only lunch. We will belch freely and talk about sports. And hunting. And uhh...manly things." Ryan added unconvincingly.

"We'll be back in an hour." Beckett said, picking up her coat and bag, feeling almost sorry for whatever awkward attempts at male bonding would occur while she was gone.

* * *

"So..." Lanie began, stirring her straw around her ice tea, impatiently.

"So?" Beckett blinked back, innocently. Lanie's patience snapped.

"HE'S THE GUY!" she hissed, a little too loudly, and the businessman at the next table peeked out from his newspaper to frown at them.

"He's not the guy, Lanie. He is A guy. He's a nice guy. But there is no guy," Beckett maintained, before taking a sip of her milkshake.

"There is so a guy." Lanie's eyes narrowed. "You were all...shooting loveballs out of your eye sockets this morning."

"I was happy this morning, because I happened to get a good night's sleep for once." Kate corrected, snagging a fry.

"Next to...?" Lanie pushed.

"A book." Kate deadpanned. Lanie sighed.

"Fine. Well, what ever happened to...whatshisface?"

"Whatshisface...is out of the country right now. I haven't talked to whatshisface in two months." Kate shrugged noncommittally.

"So there is no guy?" Lanie asked, disappointed.

"There is no guy." Kate confirmed, matter-of-factly.

"Liar." Lanie narrowed her eyes, and Kate opened her mouth to deny it again, but Lanie changed the subject. "So, this Castle guy. He's not a detective."

"No, he does maintenance and janitorial work at the precinct, and he happened to help me with a case."

"And he's all of a sudden playing junior detective? Montgomery wouldn't allow that."

"He just happened to be by today to sign some legal documents...long story...and he recognized the mark on the vic's arm. Oh, he brought donuts! You should snag one on the way back."

"He brought you donuts?"

"He brought the team donuts, Lanie"

"He's sweet on you, Kate!"

"He is not sweet on me!"

"Please. He was staring at you like you were the second coming over those reports."

"He was interested in the case."

"He was interested in your lips, Kate."

"Whatever. Can we drop this?" Kate sighed.

"For now," Lanie relented, "but I reserve the right to tell you I told you so, later." Kate huffed and rolled her eyes.

* * *

The two women had barely stepped off the precinct elevator when Rick bounded over to them from Ryan's desk.

"We got a lead!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. Lanie shot Beckett a look, and departed for her donut. Beckett shook her head at the over-sized manchild, and stepped around him, striding purposely towards the two male detectives on her team. They started filling her in before she even said a word.

"The vic is Karen Matthews, 28, from Queens, identified by a member of one of the local Wiccan groups. We tried contacting several other members of the group by phone, but they're MIA," Ryan began.

"But, we got the address of their meeting space, and there were reports last night a public disturbance in the vicinity - screaming, shouting, glass breaking. We were just headed to the neighborhood to check it out," Esposito finished.

"It's angry Wiccans out for blood!" Rick practically squealed from behind them. "It's actually happening!" Ryan and Esposito tried to hide their snickering. Beckett rolled her eyes and grabbed a clipboard out of Ryan's hands to make note of the address, before walking back towards the elevators, followed by the two detectives, and Castle right on their heels.

"It's not angry Wiccans out for blood, Castle." Beckett said, pushing the button for the elevator. Seconds later, the doors opened, and the three detectives got on, giving Rick a strange look as he tried to board the elevator with him. Beckett reached out a hand to prevent his progress. "You're staying here, Castle."

"Oh! Please, Kate? Let me go with you? Just this once. I won't cause any trouble. You won't even know that I'm there." Castle pleaded, like a child trying to stay up past bedtime. Kate thought about it for a second, and grudgingly lowered her arm, letting him into the elevator.

"Fine, but you stay in the car," she insisted.

"I stay in the car. Got it. I will not leave the car." Castle nodded vigorously.

Kate sighed. _He was so going to leave the car._


	9. Chapter 9

"Okay, let's go through this one more time," Kate Beckett said, adjusting her flak jacket before leaning down to face Rick,through the open door of the passenger side of the car. They were parked in an alley at the side of a brick low-rise apartment building in the East Village.

"I will not leave the car," Rick repeated faithfully, just as he had in the elevator, on the ride over, and once more before Beckett had gotten out of the car to change.

"Because?" Beckett urged him to continue.

"Because I don't have police training, or any protective equipment, and I might get injured and I haven't signed a waiver in case I get injured at the scene of a crime, and I'm a nice guy with a child to feed and I can't afford to get injured and miss work and you will not make a habit of smoothing things over just because I want to play detective." he faithfully recited, with a sigh.

"And?"

"And, if I do get out of the car, you will charge me with interfering with an investigation and you will put handcuffs on me, which under other circumstances might actually be something that I would enjoy, by the way..."

"Castle..."

"And you will arrest me and put me in the back of the car, and be very, very angry at me, which, by the way - did you know you're cute when you're angry? Not at me, but when you were talking to Rob the other day, I couldn't help but notice that your lip pulls up just a little bit and..."

"Castle..."

"And you will be very angry at me and arrest me, and I will spend the night in jail and there will be absolutely no helping out with investigations any more." He nodded with wide-eyed sincerity, and Beckett had to fight the urge to laugh.

"Good. We understand each other." She shut the door, giving him one more stern look, before heading off to join Esposito and Ryan by their car.

Once they saw her approaching, they leaned over to wave at Castle, encased in Beckett's car. He eagerly waved back and gave them the thumbs up.

"Flak jacket, Beckett? That's not going to protect you if they start casting their witchy voodoo spells at us," Esposito chirped, giving her the once over.

"Look, I know this is is probably just a routine questioning, and they may not even be here, right now, but this also could be the scene of the crime, and they might be in the process of cleaning it up and they may be armed."

"And you don't want Castle to follow us inside, so it's better if he thinks that this is dangerous." Ryan finished, a crafty smile lighting up his face.

"He couldn't even keep his hands off the radio on the way over here." Beckett smirked."I had to tell him four different times to take his hands off of things." Ryan and Esposito tilted their heads with newfound interest.

"THE CAR! Mechanical things!" she insisted, when she caught on to their train of thought. They snickered as she fought to remain composed. After the boys made a show of putting their own flak jackets on, they went around the side of the building, checked the directory, and headed up to the meeting space on the third floor.

On the third floor landing, they headed down a short corridor, and Beckett stopped in front of a large, industrial looking door, knocking sharply.

"NYPD! Is anyone there? We'd like to ask you a few questions." The trio paused outside the door for a moment, and after an initial silence, they heard scuffling sounds inside, as if several people were moving hurriedly. Glances passed between the detectives and Beckett knocked again.

"NYPD! We know you're in there. Open up. We only want to talk," she yelled. Suddenly, muffled screams broke the silence, followed by a loud thudding noise and more scrambling. Beckett nodded at their team.

"We're coming in!" she warned. Esposito kicked the door in, quickly entering with his gun drawn, Ryan and Beckett following just behind, flanking their colleague as they stopped short. The place was completely dark in the middle of the day! The trio drew their flashlights quickly, and Beckett felt along the wall, until her hand hit the light switch.

* * *

Rick tried. He really tried, but sitting still was just not his strong suit. Especially sitting inside a cop car, right in front of a radio, with shiny, shiny buttons. His hand, entirely of its own will, shot out towards the nearest button._ No! He had promised Beckett on the way over. He would not touch the buttons. He would stay inside the car and he would not touch any of the buttons. He could do this._ His leg was twitching already, bouncing up and down quickly against the car mat, and he clenched his fists tightly in his lap. He would not touch the radio.

* * *

The room was a large, concrete box, with low end bookshelves aligning one wall, filled with books, and jars of dried herbs. Dark, heavy, black velvet curtains covered the windows, preventing the daylight from getting in. Chalk symbols covered the other walls, and the floor, where a woman lay bound in large strips of what looked like bedsheets, in the middle of a giant chalk circle. She was gagged, but she yelled at them through the material. The sound of breaking glass drew their attention across the room, where several people, dressed in black clothing, were crouching, partially hidden in the curtains. One of them had broken a window and quickly threw his body outside onto the fire escape. The detectives quickly trained their guns on the rest of the crew before they could flee, and they quickly surrendered themselves, throwing their hands in the air, before sinking to the ground.

After a quick survey of the room, and the okay from her colleagues, Beckett cautiously peered outside, down the fire escape and saw the man who had fled quickly scrambling down the fire escape, already almost two floors below her.

"NYPD! Stay where you are!" Beckett shouted authoritatively, but the man kept scrambling, dropping off the fire escape taking off down the alley towards...oh no. Her car. With Castle inside. Grumbling, she began scrambling down the fire escape herself, quickly sliding and jumping down each flight of stairs.

* * *

"This is car 20524, we have a 10-30 in progress. Perp heading westbound on foot down..." Rick looked around, "...some alley." He grimaced. That didn't sound right at all. He made radio static sounds and was in the process of changing his voice to reply as the police dispatcher, when he heard a crash sound from somewhere above and behind the car. He shifted down in his seat and tried to angle the rear view and side mirrors to find the source of the sound. Grunting in frustration, he tried turning around and glancing out of the back window. He still couldn't find the source of the sound. He reached for the door handle.

_You will not leave the car! _Beckett's voice sounded in his head, and he yanked back his hand like it was on fire. Great! Now she was in his head. Tapping his hands with nervous energy against the dash, one reached for the radio. He could call for help! _You will not touch the radio!_ Head-Beckett was very insistent. He growled in frustration. _And don't even think of turning the light on! _Rick sighed, twiddling his thumbs. He couldn't just sit here like this!

The dull clanging sound of footsteps against metal drew Rick out of his internal battle. Rick was finally able to peer out of the back window and see the metal fire escape vibrating as someone made his way down quickly. Glancing up, he saw Beckett poke her head out of the third floor landing, spot the man, and call out.

"NYPD! Stay where you are!"

This was so cool! This was exactly like the scenario he wrote about in his story. The darkly-clad man landed with a thud on the pavement of the alley and began running in his direction, while Beckett started after him, flying down the fire escape at double the speed. This was the part of the story where Castle busted out of the door and tackled the suspect to the ground.

He stared at the door handle. His foot tapped on the ground anxiously. He could do it! He could tackle the suspect just like in his story! He would be a hero! The man was running right for him...except that Beckett told him not to leave the car. Beckett would be angry. But Beckett was cute when she was angry. Now Beckett was running towards him as well, gaining ground on the man as she sprinted - in high heels no less - after him, down the alley._ How did she do that in those shoes?_

The man had almost reached the back of the car when Rick steeled himself, put his hand on the handle, and pushed.

* * *

Swearing under her breath, Beckett ran full speed after the man in the alley. She was gaining ground quickly, but the man had already reached her patrol car. She hoped Castle wouldn't do anything stupid. Suddenly, she saw motion from the passenger side of the car. _Oh no! He was totally going to do something stupid._ In desperation, hoping to stop both Castle and the man fleeing on foot, she screamed in her fiercest police voice.

"NYPD! Freeze!"

It almost worked. The man, still running, glanced back at her over his shoulder, and seemed to slow momentarily. Suddenly, the passenger door flew open, drawing the man's attention back to what was in front of him. It was too late though. The man tried to slow, and pivot, but he tripped over his own footing and flew face first into the door, implanting into the glass window, where his cheek made a squeaking noise as his body slowly sank to the ground. Beckett winced at the impact. It looked painful. Cursing under her breath, Beckett covered the remaining ground with a burst of speed, and hovered over the man as he grunted and rolled on the ground.

"Don't move, sir. I'll call for an ambulance," she instructed firmly, putting a hand on the man's back and situating herself in case he tried to flee again. From her squatting position, she peered up into the passenger side of the car to see if Castle was okay. He looked back at her, wide-eyed.

"I didn't leave the car," he insisted. It was all she could do not to laugh.


	10. Chapter 10

"This is great! Isn't this great?!"

Beckett looked over to see Rick beaming at her as they drove back to the precinct in her car. He looked as excited as a dog out for a Sunday drive, his body quivering with energy. She said nothing, merely shook her head at him and returned her attention to the road, although not without a hint of amusement.

"This is amazing!" he repeated, after a moment, unable to contain himself, and turned to the back of the car for confirmation. The suspect who had previously run into the passenger side door glowered at them from the back seat, a piece of medical tape across his nose, and a very angry looking purplish-red welt forming on his cheekbone. "Isn't this amazing? Well, okay maybe not for you. Sorry about the..." Rick motioned around his own cheek area, unsure of how to appropriately describe it. There was a soft, but distinct snorting sound from the driver's side.

"I should sue the NYPD," the man growled.

"And the video camera mounted in my car will show that you tripped and fell into the door on your own, Mr..." Beckett said matter-of-factly, fishing for a name.

"I'm not saying anything without my lawyer." The man in the back pouted, and then tongued the spot where his incisor tooth used to be. The detective had read him his rights and he was sticking to them.

Rick turned to Beckett and shrugged gleefully. This guy was not about to ruin his perfect day._ He was a hero! (Well, kind of...) And he had helped Detective Beckett-Homicide solve a case! And she had run down the bad guys in what had to be four inch heels! They were a team! (Maybe?)_ He hummed all of the theme songs to his favorite cop shows on the ride back to the precinct.

* * *

Upon their return to the precinct, they ran into Montgomery while getting off the elevator.

"Sir, we're bringing some suspects in for questioning in the Matthews murder," Kate informed him, and then gave a short recount of finding another women bound and gagged at the Wiccan group's meeting area, and the pursuit of the man down the alleyway, conveniently leaving Rick's well-timed door-opening out. Montgomery nodded, and then turned to address the team, finally noticing the janitor's presence. Rick gave him a nervous wave.

"He's still here?" Montgomery turned to his team of detectives, and in particular, Beckett. "Did he go with you out into the field?"

"I stayed in the car." Rick nervously recited his line on command.

"It was just going to be a routine questioning, Sir. I saw no reason he couldn't ride along. And he ...did stay in the car." She gave Rick a long-suffering look, while he put on his best pleading face.

"Well, you know what this means, Mr. Rodgers?" Montgomery allowed a few seconds for effect. Thoughts raced through Rick's head. Were they going to let him become a part of investigations from now on? Was he a part of the team? "More paperwork in legal for you. I think you know where the office is." Montgomery extended his hand down the hallway towards legal.

Rick sighed sadly. He was going to miss the questioning and all of the fun while they finished the case. Dropping his shoulders, he accepted his fate, trudging down the hallway to legal. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he could see the team of detectives discussing the case in greater detail as they headed towards the interrogation room. He caught Beckett's eye and she threw him an encouraging look before returning to the conversation.

* * *

Rick sighed. He had been in this office for the better part of an hour, for the second time today, while the same pasty-faced lawyer explained in exceedingly intricate detail the legal documents he was about to initial, what those legal documents covered, what they did not cover, and what he was and was not allowed to do in light of today's events. Propping his head up on the desk to keep from falling asleep to the man's deep monotone, Rick listened to as much of the legal speak as he could, even though his mind was on the case, how questioning might be going, and whether there really were angry Wiccans out for blood in New York City.

Finally, about fifteen minutes later, just as Rick's hand was cramping up, the lawyer placed the last of a mountain of paperwork in a file folder on his desk, and said that Rick was free to go. Rick nodded blandly at him, and shuffled, zombie-like out of the small, glass walled office space, intent on finding out what happened during questioning. The hallway outside of the interrogation room was silent, but as he passed an adjoining room, he saw Ryan, Esposito, and Montgomery watching something intently. He waved, and was about to speak, when the trio turned their heads sharply, and shushed him in unison. Esposito, nearest the door, pulled him inside and pointed toward the two way mirror, where he could see Detective Beckett as she paced back and forth in front of one of the darkly clad suspects from this morning, a steely-faced, pale woman with long, blonde hair.

"Beckett's just about to break her." Esposito whispered in his ear.

Rick watched, and was amazed as Beckett played the woman like a fiddle, at first calm and compassionate, but then slowly becoming more tenacious as she placed pieces of evidence before the woman, asking for explanations, catching lies, and eventually pulling a full confession from the woman, who was weeping and pleading. It may have been the most impressive performance Rick had ever seen, and he had seen many in his mother's long and varied acting career. His mouth hung open, and he even caught the other detectives nodding approvingly. So Detective Beckett had more to offer than working all hours of the day, sizing up suspects, and running perps down in high heels. Rick was impressed. Heck, Rick was just a tiny bit in love.

* * *

"So it WAS angry Wiccans out for blood!" Rick insisted, later that afternoon, as the detectives were finishing and filing paperwork, after they had pulled confessions from all of the group members, even the tight-lipped man who had fled.

"It was not angry Wiccans out for blood, Castle." Beckett insisted for at least the tenth time, as she carefully took documents down from the murder board. She was pretending to be fixated on the work, but had let a smirk sneak onto the farthest corner of her lips.

"Okay, were they not Wiccans? Were they not angry? Was there not blood?" Rick ticked off the list of criteria for his theory.

"They were angry people, Castle, who happened to be Wiccans, and they were not out for blood. They were out to scare the two investment brokers who lied to them and gave them bad advice. Things went too far, and one of those investment brokers died."

"So they were angry Wiccans...out for money? Well, that's just not as good a story." Rick pouted.

"It's not a story, Castle. It's real life. Those are real people, and they're probably going to be tried and convicted for their crimes." Beckett shrugged, tidying up the paperwork on her desk.

"And that's it? That's the end?"

"Well, we did save the life of the other broker, so she'll be going home to her family, for now, until it can be determined whether or not she was running a scam."

"Seems kind of depressing."

"Which is why we go out for a couple of beers after we finish a case. Espo, Ryan, are we going out for beers tonight? I think Castle could use a drink." Esposito and Ryan's heads shot up at the same time, and they looked at Beckett incredulously.

"You, Beckett? You are coming out for drinks." Ryan asked, finally, when he had wrapped his head around things.

"I go out for drinks! Maybe not all the time but..." Beckett started defensively, giving the two detectives a nasty glare, before turning to Rick. "What do you say, Rick? Want to see a cop bar, first hand?"

Rick looked at his watch. He did have to clean a building later tonight, but that wasn't until maybe about eight o'clock. It was only five now, so he had time for a drink before he had to go home and change.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'd like that," he replied, grinning, hoping to not seem too eager to be spending a few extra hours with his favorite detective. "I'm just going to go get that espresso machine out of storage so I can take a look at it later tonight when I get home. I'll be five minutes."

Rick hurried down to the supply closet and carefully brought the large machine down from the shelf, hefting it awkwardly and returning quickly to the bullpen. It would be another excuse to make a trip down to the precinct next week, and maybe even get a peek at another case, or really, another peek at Detective Beckett. When he returned, he stood off to the side, feeling like a little bit of an outsider as Montgomery praised his team on a job well done. He was recounting the excellent job Kate had done in interrogation when Castle was joined off to the side by a tall man in a leather jacket. Castle assumed he was another detective.

"She's something, huh?" the man spoke casually, nodding to Beckett, as Montgomery gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Rick grinned, "She's something alright." He stared, transfixed for a second, and proud. He guessed it was silly to be proud. It's not like she was his detective, but he liked to think that he picked a good one to admire from afar. The man beside him hummed in assessment.

"Well, I wouldn't get to attached if I were you..." he fished for a name.

"Rick. From janitorial."

"Oh. I was wondering what the deal with the espresso machine was."

"Ah, yeah, just going to take it and have it fixed. The coffee in this place is horrible. They deserve better." Rick's voice softened and he turned to stare at Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide again.

"Well, Rick from janitorial, I wouldn't get too attached. I hear her boyfriend is a heart surgeon." Boyfriend. That got Rick's attention. He'd never considered that before. He turned to ask the detective some more questions about Kate, but he was already striding over to the team. Kate's eyebrows shot up when she saw him.

"Josh?" she said, in disbelief.

"Hey babe, I'm back!" He smiled and pulled her into a deep hug and then kissed her cheek. _Oh_, Rick thought, _he's the surgeon boyfriend. Cute._ Well, this was a miserable way to end the day. The espresso machine slipped in his hands and he slid the weight of it onto a desk. He now felt like a complete outsider.

"Josh, what are you doing here?" Kate, still in shock, asked the doctor, who Rick noted, had ridiculously shiny, silky hair. Of course he did.

"I came to take my beautiful girlfriend, whom I haven't seen in months, to dinner at the most ridiculously romantic and expensive restaurant in town." He crowded in and smiled charmingly at her, and it took Kate a few seconds to realize she had other plans.

"Oh. Ohhhhh. The boys and I were just going to go out for a beer to celebrate closing the case."

"You can go, Beckett. We'll go another day." Esposito was not particularly good at fake nonchalance, and his hurt shined through. "S'ok. No big deal." The two male detectives busied themselves with packing up for the day.

"But Cas..." Kate looked around and finally spotted Rick leaning against a desk, still holding the big, stainless steel espresso maker.

"It's okay. I'm just going to take this home and get a head start on repairs, before work. Detectives, thank you so much for that once in a lifetime experience. I'll never forget it. Goodnight." Rick excused himself quickly and headed for the elevators, not trusting his cheery front to remain that way for long.

He didn't know what he was thinking. He wasn't a detective. He wasn't a hero. He certainly wasn't in the same dating league as Detective Beckett. He was the janitor. He was the coffee guy. He wasn't Castle. He was Rick Rodgers, blue-collar working shmuck who had let his imagination get away from him.

Sighing, he let the elevator doors close on the 12th precinct homicide division and his crazy fantasies.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Notes: **_What? You folks don't like Josh?! I was sure if the Castle fandom liked any character it would be Josh... ;)_

Guest mailbag:

**Guest** :Oh I really didn't expect Josh to exist in this AU. I can't remember if Beckett mentioned or thought about him in her POV chapters. I'm out. I hate the love triangle trope. Good luck with the rest of the fic author.

**Author:** She didn't. Well, Lanie brought up Whatshisface. That should tell you all you need to know if you think there's going to be a long, drawn out triangle. But Beckett's the kind of attractive person who draws the attention of doctors and rich and successful authors, and janitors too. The question is what draws her attention and affections? Besides, it's part of what needs to be explored. How does 'unsuccessful' Castle compete? But for those who are worried, the main thrust of this story is NOT going to be Poor-Castle against Rich-Josh. Promise. The triangle-averse and Josh-averse (so...all of you) can read on. At least this chapter.

* * *

"So, I was bandaging up this man's face, when..."

Beckett snickered. They were seated at a very elegant and exclusive restaurant, and she was pushing one of the mystery components of her too-small salad around her plate. Maybe it was an artichoke heart. She noticed that Josh had stopped his anecdote, and she looked up to meet his concerned gaze.

"Want to tell me what's so funny about the story of how I single-handedly saved a whole family - and a dog - after they were pulled out of the ruins of their home?" he looked at her seriously. Oh. Probably not the right time to laugh.

"No, it's not that. It's a great story, Josh, but, the bandaging thing, it reminded me of something that happened today. So, we were in the East Village, standard murder case, and we we honestly just went to ask this Wiccan group some questions, but they were not opening the door, and then we heard screams, so we bust in there, and one of them is already throwing himself onto the fire escape. So we secure the room, and I dash out on the fire escape after him, and I'm chasing him down the alley towards my car, when Castle opens the car door, and I know he's going to just do something crazy so I..."

"Wait, who's Castle?"

"Oh, Rick. You met him earlier. The guy with the espresso maker. We call him Castle. Anyway so..."

"Wait, the guy who does janitorial work is out with you on ride-alongs?"

"It's a long story. He's actually very helpful, but don't ever tell him that I told you that. Anyway, so I yell at the guy to freeze, and he stumbles and trips and falls head-first into the car door, smashes his face, slides down to the ground, and then Castle says, completely serious, "I didn't leave the car,"" Kate pauses to laugh. "Oh, I should have told you about that part earlier. Castle tells it better than I do, but you should have seen this guy's face after. He had this big purple welt right on his cheek!" She snickers again, having trouble recomposing herself. "I'm sorry. I guess you had to be there."

"I think you did have to be there," Josh nods, confused. "So, as I was saying, I was bandaging this guy's head and..."

Beckett's lips are quivering at the corners, fighting the urge to turn up. Josh raises his eyebrows.

"Nothing. It's just...Angry Wiccans out for blood. Nevermind. Continue."

* * *

Alexis Castle bounds down the stairs when she sees her dad by the bookcase.

"Hey Dad! There you are! When I got back from school, you weren't home. Where did you go?"

"Oh, I was at the precinct earlier signing paperwork," he mused sadly, thumbing one of his manuscripts.

"All day?!"

"No, there was this case. I helped out again. You'd never believe it, but it actually was angry Wiccans out for blood - for real," Rick smiled a little at the thought, before placing the manuscript back on the shelf.

"You helped the NYPD solve another case? That's amazing, Dad!" Alexis threw her arms around him, and then grabbed his hand, leading him off to the kitchen.

"How are we going to celebrate? Ice cream sundaes?" She noticed that her father's normal enthusiasm for ice cream sundaes was not there and she was practically dragging him toward the kitchen.

"No, sweetheart. You go ahead. I promised the detectives I'd take a look at their espresso machine, so I'm going to do that and then head off for work." Rick sighed, gave his daughter's hand a squeeze and then went to sit on the floor beside the espresso machine, pondering it a bit. He started jiggling a hose, before frowning and taking a screwdriver to the back of the casing. His daughter noticed his glum demeanor, even taking apart the machinery, and came to sit on the floor with him, bringing two bowls of ice cream, just in case.

"Well, if you aren't going to celebrate, are you at least going to work it into the story you've been writing?" Alexis asked hopefully.

"I...no, Alexis, I don't think I'm going to be working on that one anymore." Rick morosely worked a screw loose from the casing.

"Aww! Why not, Dad? I've been reading it! It's so good!" Alexis encouraged.

"You've - what?! You've been reading it?!" Rick's head popped up and he dropped the screwdriver in surprise. Alexis shrugged.

"I always proofread your stories," she noted, defensively.

"Yes, when I'm done them. I've barely started this one."

"I got a head start. I really like this Castle character. He's all rugged and heroic...kinda clever and witty...reminds me a bit of you?" Alexis probes. Castle hangs his head. His daughter really is far too clever for her own good.

"You think so?" His voice came out entirely too hopeful and he hated himself a bit for being so transparent.

"I know so." Alexis squeezed his shoulder and ruffled his hair. "You're my dad, after all. Don't give up. This might be the best one so far." She took a congratulatory heaping spoon of ice cream, licked the spoon clean, and got up to put the bowl in the sink.

"Really?" Castle probed for a little extra ego-stroking.

"Uh-huh. But we're going to have to talk about the love scene between the two lead characters. Very unprofessional of them."

"YOU READ THE LOVE SCENE?!" Castle was aghast.

"Someone needs to learn to password protect his laptop better," came Alexis' voice from the kitchen.

* * *

"So..." Josh began, reaching over the table to grab Beckett's hand after she had finished her dessert.

"So?" she asked, a little amused at how predictable this date was.

"I was thinking we could head back to your place, maybe take out a bottle of wine?" Beckett considered that thought for half a moment, if only to try and picture Josh's horrified expression at the gigantic murder board that had taken up residence on her living room walls. Josh had never been to her apartment. In fact, nobody besides Kate had set foot inside her apartment in any number of years for that very reason, and Josh was most definitely not going to be visiting tonight.

"How about your place?" Kate countered. It was too early and she was too wired, and if she went home right now she knew she would spend all night working on her mother's case. Josh winced.

"It's a bit musty at my place and I haven't even unpacked. Come on, I haven't been to your place in..." Josh tried to pinpoint how long it had been, before Kate cut him off.

"Maybe we'd better call it a night then. You can go home and unpack and we'll finish catching up some other time," she said, convincingly. Kate considered that it had been four months, and maybe it was time to call off this relationship. Sooner or later they all start getting more inquisitive and less distracting, and she's certainly not about to let Josh know about her secret crusade to find her mother's killer. He'd barely managed to pay attention to her case stories this evening. It was a shame. He was a nice guy. She'd have to think extra hard about a reason to break up with the successful surgeon who cured orphan children in ravaged countries in his spare time and happened to have a perfect head of hair. She had been thinking too long, because Josh's expression had changed to one a little more uneasy.

"Want to split a cab then?" he asked, hopefully.

"I don't think so Josh, but thanks for dinner." She patted his hand, gave him a peck on the cheek and left him sitting at the table, disappointed.

* * *

Wednesday evenings were entirely different than Mondays. On Wednesday evenings Rick cleaned a municipal building a few blocks over from the precinct. It was where they locked the real paper-pushers of the city, not the politicians and their secretaries, or even the Public Works department, but the kind of paper pushers whose work was so utterly removed from action of any kind that their families weren't even sure what they did. And no one _ever, ever_ stayed late - especially on Wednesdays. The place was completely devoid of life. Even the plastic plant in the hallway somehow managed to collect a thick and unseemly layer of dust every week that could never possibly collect on a real plant.

Rick needed a distraction. On Mondays, he had Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide - although now that her boyfriend had showed up out of nowhere, who knows if she'd be there next Monday. Maybe he could find someone just as interesting in these offices. He strode up to the nearest desk and read the nameplate. Marvin Trudeau. Maybe Marvin Trudeau would be his new source of fun and inspiration. _Let's see what can be learned about Marvin Trudeau from his desk._ Castle picked up a sheet from the top of a neat stack. City Ordinances. From 1986. Not looking good, Marvin. Ahh, but there was a picture frame. I'm sure Marvin Trudeau had a perfectly lovely family with three kids and a dog and...empty? Who keeps an empty picture frame on a desk? Oh, but there was another one! It was an autographed picture. Of Alex Trebek. Also circa 1986. Oh, Marvin Trudeau, you suck.

He tried a few more. Claire Howser had 3 miniature Dachsunds that she liked to dress up and host tea parties with. And take pictures of. There were lots and lots and lots of pictures. She did...something...with by-laws. Art Chow did nothing at all, from what Rick could glean, or at least did not keep any work files out, but his bottom desk drawer was full of completed Sudoku puzzle books. And an egg salad sandwich. Also, possibly circa 1986. Eww. Okay, so no inspiration here. In fact, if Rick had to work here on a daily basis, he's pretty sure he would have flung himself from a window years ago. He missed the precinct and the murder board and the shiny police radio buttons in Beckett's car. And Beckett. Especially Beckett, who was out on her date right now with her stupid doctor boyfriend with the very shiny hair - not that he was jealous. Rick wouldn't get to see her for another five days. And he had stayed in the car. It wasn't fair. Hmmph.

* * *

On her way home, Beckett had passed by the cop bar, looking for Esposito and Ryan. They had gone some time ago. She even passed by Castle's coffee shop, before remembering that he didn't work Wednesdays. She actually had no clue where he worked Wednesdays, although she suspected he cleaned another building somewhere, and there were no shortage of buildings in Manhattan that needed cleaning. Finally, there was nowhere to go but home, so home Beckett went, and proceeded with her ritual of toeing off her high heels, shrugging out of her jacket, and unpinning her mother's crime scene photos from the wall.

"Hi mom," she said, stroking a hand gently down the side of the top picture. She really needed to find another picture of her mother. She was beginning to forget what she looked like without stab wounds. "Caught some criminals today. Angry Wiccans out for blood," she said with a smile, and recounted the story of the arrest, and Castle's exuberance, and the man who fell face first into the passenger side door.

"You'd like Castle. He writes mystery novels. You used to love mystery novels. He gave me one of his. It's pretty good. I'll read some of it to you later. And he's pretty funny - not as funny as he thinks he is, but still pretty funny. But don't tell him that. Although, I suppose you won't be telling anyone anything any time soon, will you?" She cringed at that. "Sorry. Oh, and Josh came back today." She couldn't think of anything to say after that about Josh, although she was sure he had told her any number of stories about his heroic Doctors without Borders adventure. Shrugging, she settled her mother's picture on her lap, and grabbed Castle's manuscript and started reading.

* * *

By the time Rick dragged himself home, it was late in the evening and he was exhausted. It had been a particularly long Wednesday for him, so he was thoroughly defeated when he attempted to pull the sofa bed out and was impeded by the pile of espresso machine parts that had collected on the floor. Too tired to move them, he flopped down on the couch sideways, and pulled out his laptop, absent-mindedly. Writing before bed was a habit, and it wasn't until he was staring at the glowing screen that Rick remembered that he had resolved earlier to discontinue his current story. Sighing, he dragged the icon for the file called Castle, and let it hover over the recycle bin, while weighing his decision.

He thought about what Alexis had said earlier. It was a good story, maybe his best so far. He had a great time today going over reports with Detective Beckett, spinning theory, and learning how detectives think. He'd made friends with Ryan and Esposito over lunch. He'd gotten to ride along in a cop car and see an interrogation. And maybe those things would never happen again...but did it matter? So what if he wasn't Castle? So what if Beckett had a boyfriend and the love scene would stay a work of fiction? He'd still see her from time to time, and the boys.

The problem was that he was hooked. He hadn't wanted it to end. He wanted to go back to the precinct tomorrow, instead of to the coffee shop. The problem was that the wanted to live as Castle, but he could only write about him. He dragged the file away from the recycle bin, but put away his laptop.


	12. Chapter 12

_Kate Beckett and Richard Castle pasted their backs to the wall on either side of the doorway, flak jackets on, guns drawn, muscles tense, and at the ready. They stared intently at each other, like partners do, communicating silently, chests heaving with nerves. Nodding in agreement, they prepared to infiltrate the lair of the mysterious serial bomber. The SWAT team was minutes away, but they couldn't let him escape - not again. A floorboard creaked inside and they knew they had to act quickly. A second nod, and Beckett kicked in the door, the two detectives moving swiftly inside into pure darkness. Drawing their flashlights into the sight-lines for their guns, they slowly and methodically maneuvered around the empty apartment, back to back._

_Suddenly, Castle heard a gasp behind him and spun to find his partner being held by the mystery bomber - Josh? Not again! Castle looked down to find himself holding an espresso machine instead of a gun. Bomber-Josh smiled maniacally, as he pulled Beckett closer to himself and Castle saw that suddenly Josh was wearing an explosive vest. Castle could only watch as Josh fondled the trigger for a moment, before a beeping sound filled the room. Castle prepared for impact, but nothing happened. The sound grew louder and louder..._

Rick forced himself up quickly in a panic, and then hissed as his neck wrenched back into its normal position from where it had been displaced by the sofa armrest. Panting, heart still racing, he blinked blearily at the pile of espresso machine parts on the floor, as his brain fought to make sense of his surroundings. Had he exploded? Where was Beckett? And why was he still hearing that annoying digital beeping?

"Richard?! Will you turn your phone alarm off before it wakes the entire neighbourhood?!" Martha admonished, as she rushed into the living room, dressing gown floating behind her, sleeping mask pushed back onto her head. Oh. It was a dream - a miserable one, too. Rick swiped at his phone, turned off the alarm and laid back down on the couch, burying his face in the cushions. He felt like lead. Apparently, his head continued writing the story anyway, even if he wasn't typing it down.

"You okay kiddo?" Rick felt the cushions shift as Martha perched beside him. She squeezed his shoulder, and the muscles in his neck jumped and spasmed anew.

"I don't want to talk about it." He grumbled, squirming, trying to meld his way into the upholstery.

"Alexis told me you helped the police again, yesterday. That sounds exciting," Martha prompted, compassion in her voice. Rick exhaled softly.

"Yes, and today I get to make lattes for the masses, while my manager stares disgruntled laser beams into the back of my skull," he gritted out, trying to tamp down his frustration.

"I see. Well, I know it's certainly not as exciting as accompanying the police on their investigations, but I thought you liked the coffee shop, darling?"

"I do, Mother. It's just..."

"Just what, dear?"

"I don't want to turn into Marvin Trudeau." Rick pouted.

"Marvin Tru - you've lost me."

"I...I want what I do to matter."

"It does matter, darling. People need their morning coffee. They need clean offices to go to." She rubbed his back soothingly.

"It's just that yesterday, I was part of a team. I brought them donuts. They listened to my ideas. I got to ride along with them and see them in action. We were all going out for a drink together, and then..."

"Then what?"

"Then her boyfriend showed up."

"Ohhh..."

"It's not like that mother."

"It's not?"

"Okay, well maybe it is a little like that. But we sat together all day and she showed me her case notes, and she complimented my writing. She's reading one of my manuscripts, you know. She smiled at my jokes! I just...I thought..."

"And you thought what? That made you her partner? Her boyfriend?"

"No! I don't know. It made us closer. Friends. I thought it made us friends. But I'm just the guy who brings donuts and fixes the coffee machine."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Well, no but -"

"But?"

"He's this heart surgeon. She cancelled our plans and left with him. And it made me think that maybe I'm out of my league. Maybe I don't belong there."

"Richard Rodgers, there are more important things in life. You know that. I'm sure that Detective Beckett knows that." Rick nodded glumly at his mother. He knew there were more important things in life, but he couldn't help but think that if he were more successful, impressive, and important that he could somehow force his way into their world without baking donuts and fixing coffee machines, and he wouldn't be pushed out so easily when something better came along.

* * *

_ Kate Beckett was in the alley again. Her mother laid glassy-eyed on the cold pavement below, blood already dry. A shadowy figure disappeared, just ahead, around the corner and Kate ran after him, panting and heaving as she emerged to find him gone. Frustrated, she looked around, trying to find any sign of where the figure might have gone - doorways, fire escapes, dumpsters - but she could find no sign anywhere. Heading back to the body, she passed Raglan, leaning against a brick wall, smoking a cigarette._

_"Just random gang violence. Nothing to see here." He shrugged at her, like he always did. Frustrated, she looked around again, searching for help. Another detective leaned over her mother's body. That was new. _

_"You have to follow the clues." David McCallister peered up at her, rubbing some dried blood between his gloved fingers._

_"What clues?!" Kate was becoming impatient, and she looked around in all directions. _

_"Look at the clues. The evidence is there, Kate," McCallister said reassuringly, reaching for her hand. "I can help you. It's all right here..."_

Kate awakened, as usual, curled up on the floor of her living room, alone, with one arm outstretched, touching her mother's picture, and the other cradled around Castle's manuscript, now more than half-way read. Gauging the time by the light spilling across the floor, she knew she had to get moving. She had stayed up too late, into the early hours, reading chapter after chapter, promising herself she'd stop at the end of the next one, until she must have dozed off. She felt her blood ooze slowly through her body. What she needed was some yoga exercises to get going and then an extra large coffee. Still, she took a moment to search her mother's photo carefully.

"What clues, David? Where are they?" she muttered out loud, and then realized, embarrassed, that she was talking to a fictional character from Castle's manuscript. Great. She wished, momentarily, that he were real. She could use another set of eyes to go over all of this, to figure out what she was missing. She needed to find someone as obsessed with finding justice as she was, who wouldn't blink twice at her mountain of research. Unfortunately, it appeared that person only existed in her dreams right now.

Checking her phone, there were two texts from Josh: '_I miss you already'_ and '_Let's have dinner again later this week. Sweet dreams.'_ She Davidson was a nice guy - not nice enough to understand the stacks of paper all over her apartment, but a nice guy. She, on the other hand, was certain that she was a pretty terrible girlfriend. She was also a pretty terrible friend. She lamented about ditching the boys for drinks, and their obvious disappointment. Castle had seemed the most down about it and excused himself pretty quickly, leaving before she could reschedule for another night. She would remedy that today. It was Thursday. She knew exactly where to find him on Thursdays.

An hour later, she was shuffling along in the ridiculously long line at the coffee shop, watching Rick flirt with customer after customer. Were there so many women in line last time? It made her uneasy - not jealous per se, but watching him smile and flirt his way through the line, so eager to please anyone for a few extra dollars bothered her for reasons she didn't want to think about too closely. She had come to think of Castle as her - what exactly? Her errand boy? Her workplace confidante? Her intern? He was none of these things.

* * *

Rick spotted her when she was three customers back in line at the coffee shop. Kate looked exhausted. Fantastic. Well, no need to guess whether Beckett had hit it off with her boyfriend yesterday. Clearly, she had gotten next to no sleep. Rick cursed his observational skills and focused on the customers in front of her. They were two of his regulars, cappuccino fanatics, or 'cap-heads' as he liked to call them. They were business women of some sort, and incorrigible flirts, and most importantly, if he played along he usually got a big tip from both.

"Well, well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," he started, eyes slowly travelling up and down their bodies. "The usual?"

They laughed appreciatively and nodded.

"There's something different today... Did you get a new haircut? You are looking fantastic," he threw over his shoulder at one, "Not that you two don't always look exceptionally sexy." He winked at the other one.

Finishing their order, he smiled seductively at them and waggled his eyebrows. One squeezed his bicep playfully before picking up her coffee, and laying some money down on the counter. Meanwhile, the other one took another few bills and stuffed them into his shirt front pocket, smoothing over his chest afterwards. "Bye ladies! Always a pleasure!" He waved, and they waved back, giving appreciative smiles as they found a table.

He turned back to the line, where Beckett stood staring at him suspiciously.

"Do you let all your customers grope you like that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Are you inquiring for yourself Detective?" He let his eyes travel down her body, just like he had the other ladies. To his delight, she squirmed uncomfortably.

"It's just -" Beckett searched for a words that weren't 'undignified'. Her brain unhelpfully supplied 'male stripper/barista' and 'piece of meat'. "You shouldn't have to do that," she settled on, finally.

"A man's got to earn a living," Rick supplied, coolly, biting back the urge to add that not everyone was a heart surgeon. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for the business transaction to be over.

"Oh. Uhh. The usual. Extra large," Beckett supplied and he went to work. The machine whirred and hissed away. "I'm uhh...sorry about cancelling last night." Beckett had to raise her voice over the noise. "It - Josh - was unexpected. I was hoping we could try again tonight. You me, Ryan and Espo."

Rick let that roll around his brain for a second, searching for traces of pity in her voice. Finding none, he turned back to find her staring eagerly at him. Slowly, he found himself nodding. "Okay."

"I thought we could exchange numbers. Today should be just a paperwork day, but we may catch a case. I could call you or send you a text?"

"I...yeah. Uhh..." Rick pulled out a napkin and searched his pockets for a pen, but when he looked up, the detective already had a pad of paper and pen at the ready. Oh yeah. Detectives tended to have those. He dictated his phone number.

"Thanks. I'll call you when we're done work. Or if I find any witchy looking symbols." She threw some bills down on the counter, picked up her coffee, and then, smirking, drew out a business card, placed it in Rick's front pocket, smoothing over it afterwards with a grin, like she had seen the customer in front of her do. Rick's eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling.

"I...thanks?" He said.

"My number. In case you need to call me," she confirmed with a smirk. "Later, Castle." Rick could only watch as she walked off. Huh. Maybe things weren't so dire after all.


End file.
